THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG 


X 


SWALLOW 


Frontispiece 


THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG 
P        THE  FLYERS 
THE  PURPLE  PARASOL 

HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 


BY 
GEORGE  BARR  McCUTCHEON 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
1916 


COPYRIGHT  M04.  By  DODD.  MEAD  &  COMPANY 
COPYRIGHT  190*.  BY  ESS  ESS  PUBLISHING  OO. 
COPYRIGHT  1905,  BY  DODD.  MEAD  &  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT  1907,  BY  DODD.  MEAD  &  COMPANY 
COPYRIGHT  1912,  BY  DODD,  MEAD  &  COMPANY 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The  Day  of  the  Dog ! 

The  Flyers          .       .       •       .....  61 

The  Purple   Parasol 157 

Her  Weight  in  Gold 201 

The  Maid  and  the  Blade       .....  243 


2045658 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

SWALLOW Frontispiece 


FACING 
PAGE 


Helen         ,         .       .       » 158 


THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG 


PART  I 

"  I'll  catch  the  first  train  back  this  evening,  Graves. 
Wouldn't  go  down  there  if  it  were  not  absolutely 
necessary;  but  I  have  just  heard  that  Mrs.  Delancy 
is  to  leave  for  New  York  to-night,  and  if  I  don't  see 
her  to-day  there  will  be  a  pack  of  troublesome  com- 
plications. Tell  Mrs.  Graves  she  can  count  me  in  on 
the  box  party  to-night." 

We'll  need  you,  Crosby.     Don't  miss  the  train." 
"  I'll  be  at  the  station  an  hour  before  the  train 
leaves.     Confound  it,  it's  a  mean  trip  down  there — 
three  hours  through  the  rankest  kind  of  scenery  and 
three  hours  back.     She's  visiting  in  the  country,  too, 
but  I  can  drive  out  and  back  in  an  hour." 
"  On  your  life,  old  man,  don't  fail  me." 
"  Don't  worry,  Graves ;  all  Christendom  couldn't 
keep  me  in  Dexter  after  four  o'clock  this  afternoon. 
Good-by."    And  Crosby  climbed  into  the  hansom  and 
was   driven   away   at   breakneck   speed   toward   the 
station. 

Crosby  was  the  junior  member  of  the  law  firm  of 
Rolfe  &  Crosby,  and  his  trip  to  the  country  was  on 
business  connected  with  the  settlement  of  a  big  estate. 
1 


2  THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG 

Mrs.  Delancy,  widow  of  a  son  of  the  decedent,  was 
one  of  the  legatees,  and  she  was  visiting  her  sister- 
in-law,  Mrs.  Robert  Austin,  in  central  Illinois.  Mr. 
Austin  owned  extensive  farming  interests  near  Dexter, 
and  his  handsome  home  was  less  than  two  miles  from 
the  heart  of  the  town.  Crosby  anticipated  no  trouble 
in  driving  to  the  house  and  back  in  time  to  catch  the 
afternoon  train  for  Chicago.  It  was  necessary  for 
Mrs.  Delancy  to  sign  certain  papers,  and  he  was 
confident  the  transaction  could  not  occupy  more 
than  half  an  hour's  time. 

At  11:30  Crosby  stepped  from  the  coach  to  the 
station  platform  in  Dexter,  looked  inquiringly  about, 
and  then  asked  a  perspiring  man  with  a  star  on  his 
suspender-strap  where  he  could  hire  a  horse  and 
buggy.  The  officer  directed  him  to  a  "  feed-yard  and 
stable,"  but  observed  that  there  was  a  "  funeral  in 
town  an'  he'd  be  lucky  if  he  got  a  rig,  as  all  of  Smith's 
horses  were  out."  Application  at  the  stable  brought 
the  first  frown  to  Crosby's  brow.  He  could  not  rent 
a  "  rig  "  until  after  the  funeral,  and  that  would  make 
it  too  late  for  him  to  catch  the  four  o'clock  train  for 
Chicago.  To  make  the  story  short,  twelve  o'clock 
saw  him  trudging  along  the  dusty  road  covering  the 
two  miles  between  town  and  Austin's  place,  and  he  was 
walking  with  the  rapidity  of  one  who  has  no  love  for 
the  beautiful.  The  early  spring  air  was  invigorating, 
and  it  did  not  take  Km  long  to  reduce  the  distance. 
Austin's  house  stood  on  a  hill,  far  back  from  the  high- 
way, and  overlooking  the  entire  country-side. 

The  big  red  barn  stood  in  from  the  road  a  hun- 


THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG  3 

dred  yards  or  more,  and  he  saw  that  the  same  drive- 
way led  to  the  house  on  the  hill.  There  was  no  time 
for  speculation,  so  he  hastily  made  his  way  up  the 
lane.  Crosby  had  never  seen  his  client,  their  business 
having  been  conducted  by  mail  or  through  Mr.  Rolfe. 
There  was  not  a  person  in  sight,  and  he  slowed  his 
progress  considerably  as  he  drew  nearer  the  big  house. 
At  the  barn-yard  gate  he  came  to  a  full  stop  and  de- 
bated within  himself  the  wisdom  of  inquiring  at  the 
stables  for  Mr.  Austin. 

He  flung  open  the  gate  and  strode  quickly  to  the 
door.  This  he  opened  boldly  and  stepped  inside,  find- 
ing himself  in  a  lofty  carriage  room.  Several  hand- 
some vehicles  stood  at  the  far  end,  but  the  wide  space 
near  the  door  was  clear.  The  floor  was  as  "  clean  as 
a  pin,"  except  along  the  west  side.  No  one  was  in 
sight,  and  the  only  sound  was  that  produced  by  the 
horses  as  they  munched  their  hay  and  stamped  their 
hoofs  in  impatient  remonstrance  with  the  flies. 

"  Where  the  deuce  are  the  people?  "  he  muttered 
as  he  crossed  to  the  mangers.  "  Devilish  queer," 
glancing  about  in  considerable  doubt.  "  The  hands 
must  be  at  dinner  or  taking  a  nap."  He  passed  by 
a  row  of  mangers  and  was  calmly  inspected  by  brown- 
eyed  horses.  At  the  end  of  the  long  row  of  stalls  he 
found  a  little  gate  opening  into  another  section  of  the 
barn.  He  was  on  the  point  of  opening  this  gate  to 
pass  in  among  the  horses  when  a  low  growl  attracted 
his  attention.  In  some  alarm  he  took  a  precautionary 
look  ahead.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the  gate  stood  a 
huge  and  vicious  looking  bulldog,  unchained  and  wait- 


4  THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG 

ing  for  him  with  an  eager  ferocity  that  could  not  be 
mistaken.  Mr.  Crosby  did  not  open  the  gate.  In- 
stead he  inspected  it  to  see  that  it  was  securely  fas- 
tened, and  then  drew  his  hand  across  his  brow. 

"  What  an  escape !  "  he  gasped,  after  a  long  breath. 
"  Lucky  for  me  you  growled,  old  boy.  My  name  is 
Crosby,  my  dear  sir,  and  I'm  not  here  to  steal  any- 
thing. I'm  only  a  lawyer.  Anybody  else  at  home  but 
you?  " 

An  ominous  growl  was  the  answer,  and  there  was 
lurid  disappointment  in  the  face  of  the  squat  figure 
beyond  the  gate. 

"  Come,  now,  old  chap,  don't  be  nasty.  I  won't 
hurt  you.  There  was  nothing  farther  from  my  mind 
than  a  desire  to  disturb  you.  And  say,  please  do 
something  besides  growl.  Bark,  and  oblige  me.  You 
may  attract  the  attention  of  some  one." 

By  this  time  the  ugly  brute  was  trying  to  get  at 
the  man,  growling,  and  snarling  savagely.  Crosby 
complacently  looked  on  from  his  place  of  safety  for 
a  moment,  and  was  on  the  point  of  turning  away  when 
his  attention  was  caught  by  a  new  move  on  the  part 
of  the  dog.  The  animal  ceased  his  violent  efforts  to 
get  through  the  gate,  turned  about  deliberately,  and 
raced  from  view  behind  the  horse  stalls.  Crosby 
brought  himself  up  with  a  jerk. 

"Thunder,"  he  ejaculated;  "the  brute  knows  a 
way  to  get  at  me,  and  he  won't  be  long  about  it, 
either.  What  the  dickens  shall  I — by  George,  this 
looks  serious!  He'll  head  me  off  at  the  door  if  I 
try  to  get  out  and — Ah,  the  fire-escape !  We'll  fool 


THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG  5 

you,  you  brute!  What  a  cursed  idiot  I  was  not  to 
go  to  the  house  instead  of  coming — "  He  was  shin- 
ning up  a  ladder  with  little  regard  for  grace  as  he 
mumbled  this  self-condemnatory  remark.  There  was 
little  dignity  in  his  manner  of  flight,  and  there  was 
certainly  no  glory  in  the  position  in  which  he  found 
himself  a  moment  later.  But  there  was  a  vast  amount 
of  satisfaction. 

The  ladder  rested  against  a  beam  that  crossed  the 
carriage  shed  near  the  middle.  The  beam  was  a  large 
one,  hewn  from  a  monster  tree,  and  was  free  on  all 
sides.  The  ladder  had  evidently  been  left  there  by 
men  who  had  used  it  recently  and  had  neglected  to 
return  it  to  the  hooks  on  which  it  properly  hung. 

When  the  dog  rushed  violently  through  the  door 
and  into  the  carriage  room,  he  found  a  vast  and  in- 
explicable solitude.  He  was,  to  all  appearances, 
alone  with  the  vehicles  under  which  he  was  permitted 
to  trot  when  his  master  felt  inclined  to  grant  the 
privilege. 

Crosby,  seated  on  the  beam,  fifteen  feet  above  the 
floor,  grinned  securely  but  somewhat  dubiously  as 
he  watched  the  mystified  dog  below.  At  last  he 
laughed  aloud.  He  could  not  help  it.  The  enemy 
glanced  upward  and  blinked  his  red  eyes  in  surprise ; 
then  he  stared  in  deep  chagrin,  then  glared  with  rage. 
For  a  few  minutes  Crosby  watched  his  frantic  efforts 
to  leap  through  fifteen  feet  of  altitudinal  space,  con- 
fidently hoping  that  some  one  would  come  to  drive 
the  brute  away  and  liberate  him.  Finally  he  began 
to  lose  the  good  humor  his  strategy  in  fooling  the 


6  THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG 

dog  had  inspired,  and  a  hurt,  indignant  stare  was  di- 
rected toward  the  open  door  through  which  he  had 
entered. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  the  idiots?  "  he  growled 
impatiently.  "  Are  they  going  to  let  this  poor  dog 
snarl  his  lungs  out?  He's  a  faithful  chap,  too,  and 
a  willing  worker.  Gad,  I  never  saw  anything  more 
earnest  than  the  way  he  tries  to  climb  up  that  lad- 
der." Adjusting  himself  in  a  comfortable  position, 
his  elbows  on  his  knees,  his  hands  to  his  chin,  he  al- 
lowed his  feet  to  swing  lazily,  tantalizingly,  below  the 
beam.  "  I'm  putting  a  good  deal  of  faith  in  this 
beam,"  he  went  on  resignedly.  The  timber  was  at 
least  fifteen  inches  square. 

"Ah,  by  George!  That  was  a  bully  jump — the 
best  you've  made.  You  didn't  miss  me  more  than  ten 
feet  that  time.  I  don't  like  to  be  disrespectful,  you 
know,  but  you  are  an  exceedingly  rough  looking  dog. 
Don't  get  huffy  about  it,  old  fellow,  but  you  have  the 
ugliest  mouth  I  ever  saw.  Yes,  you  miserable  cur, 
politeness  at  last  ceases  to  be  a  virtue  with  me.  If 
I  had  you  up  here  I'd  punch  your  face  for  you,  too. 
Why  don't  you  come  up,  you  coward?  You're  bow- 
legged,  too,  and  you  haven't  any  more  figure  than  a 
crab.  Anybody  that  would  take  an  insult  like  that  is 
beneath  me  (thank  heaven!)  and  would  steal  sheep. 
Great  Scott!  Where  are  all  these  people?  Shut  up, 
you  brute,  you !  I'm  getting  a  headache.  But  it 
doesn't  do  any  good  to  reason  with  you,  I  can  see  that 
plainly.  The  thing  I  ought  to  do  is  to  go  down  there 


THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG  7 

and  punish  you  severely.  But  I'll — Hello !  Hey, 
boy?  Call  off  this confounded  dog." 

Two  small  Lord  Fauntleroy  boys  were  standing  in 
the  door,  gazing  up  at  him  with  wide  open  mouths  and 
bulging  eyes. 

"  Call  him  off,  I  say,  or  I'll  come  down  there  and 
kick  a  hole  clear  through  him."  The  boys  stared 
all  the  harder.  "  Is  your  name  Austin?  "  he  de- 
manded, addressing  neither  in  particular. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  the  larger  boy,  with  an  ef- 
fort. 

"  Well,  where's  your  father?  Shut  up,  you  brute ! 
Can't  you  see  I'm  talking?  Go  tell  your  father  I 
want  to  see  him,  boy." 

"  Dad's  up  at  the  house." 

"  That  sounds  encouraging.  Can't  you  call  off 
this  dog?  " 

"I— I  guess  I'd  better  not.  That's  what  dad 
keeps  him  for." 

"Oh,  he  does,  eh?  And  what  is  it  that  he  keeps 
him  for?" 

"  To  watch  tramps." 

"  To  watch — to  watch  tramps?  Say,  boy,  I'm  a 
lawyer  and  I'm  here  on  business."  He  was  black  in 
the  face  with  indignation. 

"  You  better  come  up  to  the  house  and  see  dad, 
then.  He  don't  live  in  the  barn,"  said  the  boy  keenly. 

"  I  can't  fly  to  the  house,  boy.  Say,  if  you  don't 
call  off  this  dog  I'll  put  a  bullet  through  him." 

"  You'd  have  to  be  a  purty  good  shot,  mister. 
Nearly  everybody  in  the  county  has  tried  to  do  it." 


8  THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG 

Both  boys  were  grinning  diabolically  and  the  dog 
took  on  energy  through  inspiration.  Crosby  longed 
for  a  stick  of  dynamite. 

"  I'll  give  you  a  dollar  if  you  get  him  away  from 
here," 

"Let's  see  your  dollar."  Crosby  drew  a  silver 
dollar  from  his  trousers  pocket,  almost  falling  from 
his  perch  in  the  effort. 

"  Here's  the  coin.  Call  him  off,"  gasped  the  law- 
yer. 

"  I'm  afraid  papa  wouldn't  like  it,"  said  the  boy. 
The  smaller  lad  nudged  his  brother  and  urged  him  to 
"  take  the  money  anyhow." 

"  I  live  in  Chicago,"  Crosby  began,  hoping  to  im- 
press the  boys  at  least. 

"  So  do  we  when  we're  at  home,"  said  the  smaller 
boy.  "  We  live  in  Chicago  in  the  winter  time." 

"  Is  Mrs.  Delancy  your  aunt?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  I'll  give  you  this  dollar  if  you'll  tell  your  father 
I'm  here  and  want  to  see  him  at  once." 

"  Throw  down  your  dollar."  The  coin  fell  at  their 
feet  but  rolled  deliberately  through  a  crack  in  the 
floor  and  was  lost  forever.  Crosby  muttered  some- 
thing unintelligible,  but  resignedly  threw  a  second 
coin  after  the  first. 

"  He'll  be  out  when  he  gets  through  dinner,"  said 
the  older  boy,  just  before  the  fight.  Two  minutes 
later  he  was  streaking  across  the  barn  lot  with  the 
coin  in  his  pocket,  the  smaller  boy  wailing  under  the 
woe  of  a  bloody  nose.  For  half  an  hour  Crosby 


THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG  9 

heaped  insult  after  insult  upon  the  glowering  dog 
at  the  bottom  of  the  ladder  and  was  in  the  midst  of 
a  rabid  denunciation  of  Austin  when  the  city-bred 
farmer  entered  the  barn. 

" Am  I  addressing  Mr.  Robert  Austin?"  called 
Crosby,  suddenly  amiable.  The  dog  subsided  and  ran 
to  his  master's  side.  Austin,  a  black-moustached, 
sallow-faced  man  of  forty,  stopped  near  the  door 
and  looked  aloft,  squinting. 

"  Where  are  you?  "  he  asked  somewhat  sharply. 

"  I  am  very  much  up  in  the  air,"  replied  Crosby. 
"  Look  a  little  sou'  by  sou'east.  Ah,  now  you  have 
me.  Can  you  manage  the  dog?  If  so,  I'll  come 
down." 

"One  moment,  please.     Who  are  you?" 

"  My  name  is  Crosby,  of  Rolfe  &  Crosby,  Chicago. 
I  am  here  to  see  Mrs.  Delancy,  your  sister-in-law,  on 
business  before  she  leaves,  for  New  York." 

"  What  is  your  business  with  her,  may  I  ask?  " 

"  Private,"  said  Crosby  laconically.  "  Hold  the 
dog." 

"  I  insist  in  knowing  the  nature  of  your  business," 
said  Austin  firmly. 

"  I'd  rather  come  down  there  and  talk,  if  you  don't 
mind." 

"  I  don't  but  the  dog  may,"  said  the  other  grimly. 

"  Well,  this  is  a  nice  way  to  treat  a  gentleman," 
cried  Crosby  wrathfully. 

"  A  gentleman  would  scarcely  have  expected  to 
find  a  lady  in  the  barn,  much  less  on  a  cross-beam. 
This  is  where  my  horses  and  dogs  live." 


10  THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG 

"Oh,  that's  all  right  now;  this  isn't  a  joke,  you 
know." 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you.  What  is  your  business 
with  Mrs.  Delancy?  " 

"  We  represent  her  late  husband's  interests  in 
settling  up  the  estate  of  his  father.  Your  wife's  in- 
terests are  being  looked  after  by  Morton  &  Rogers, 
I  believe.  I  am  here  to  have  Mrs.  Delancy  go  through 
the  form  of  signing  papers  authorizing  us  to  bring 
suit  against  the  estate  in  order  to  establish  certain 
rights  of  which  you  are  fully  aware.  Your  wife's 
brother  left  his  affairs  slightly  tangled,  you  re- 
member." 

"  Well,  I  can  save  you  a  good  deal  of  trouble. 
Mrs.  Delancy  has  decided  to  let  the  matter  rest  as  it 
is  and  to  accept  the  compromise  terms  offered  by  the 
other  heirs.  She  will  not  care  to  see  you,  for  she  has 
just  written  to  your  firm  announcing  her  deci- 
sion." 

"You — you  don't  mean  it,"  exclaimed  Crosby  in 
dismay.  He  saw  a  prodigious  fee  slipping  through 
his  fingers.  "  Gad,  I  must  see  her  about  this,"  he 
went  on,  starting  down  the  ladder,  only  to  go  back 
again  hastily.  The  growling  dog  leaped  forward  and 
stood  ready  to  receive  him.  Austin  chuckled  audibly. 

"  She  really  can't  see  you,  Mr.  Crosby.  Mrs.  De- 
lancy leaves  at  four  o'clock  for  Chicago,  where  she 
takes  the  Michigan  Central  for  New  York  to-night. 
You  can  gain  nothing  by  seeing  her." 

"  But  I  insist,  sir,"  exploded  Crosby. 

"  You  may  come  down  when  you  like,"  said  Aus- 


THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG  11 

tin.  "  The  dog  will  be  here  until  I  return  from  the 
depot  after  driving  her  over.  Come  down  when  you 
like." 

Crosby  did  not  utter  the  threat  that  surged  to 
his  lips.  With  the  wisdom  born  of  self-preservation, 
he  temporized,  reserving  deep  down  in  the  surging 
young  breast  a  promise  to  amply  recompense  his 
pride  for  the  blows  it  was  receiving  at  the  hands  of  the 
detestable  Mr.  Austin. 

"  You'll  admit  that  I'm  in  a  devil  of  a  pickle,  Mr. 
Austin,"  he  said  jovially.  "  The  dog  is  not  at  all 
friendly." 

"  He  is  at  least  diverting.  You  won't  be  lonesome 
while  I'm  away.  I'll  tell  Mrs.  Delancy  that  you 
called,"  said  Austin  ironically. 

He  turned  to  leave  the  barn,  and  the  sinister  sneer 
on  his  face  gave  Crosby  a  new  and  amazing  inspi- 
ration. Like  a  flash  there  rushed  into  his  mind  the 
belief  that  Austin  had  a  deep  laid  design  in  not  per- 
mitting him  to  see  the  lady.  With  this  belief  also 
came  the  conviction  that  he  was  hurrying  her  off  to 
New  York  on  some  pretext  simply  to  forestall  any 
action  that  might  induce  her  to  continue  the  contem- 
plated suit  against  the  estate.  Mrs.  Delancy  had  un- 
doubtedly been  urged  to  drop  the  matter  under  pres- 
sure of  promises,  and  the  Austins  were  getting  her 
away  from  the  scene  of  action  before  she  could  re- 
consider or  before  her  solicitors  could  convince  her 
of  the  mistake  she  was  making.  The  thought  of  this 
sent  the  fire  of  resentment  racing  through  Crosby's 
brain,  and  he  fairly  gasped  with  the  longing  to  get  at 


12  THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG 

the  bottom  of  the  case.  His  only  hope  now  lay  in 
sending  a  telegram  to  Mr.  Rolfe,  commanding  him  to 
meet  Mrs.  Delancy  when  her  train  reached  Chicago, 
and  to  lay  the  whole  matter  before  her. 

Before  Austin  could  make  his  exit  the  voices  of 
women  were  heard  outside  the  door  and  an  instant 
later  two  ladies  entered.  The  farmer  attempted  to 
turn  them  back,  but  the  younger,  taller,  and  slighter 
of  the  newcomers  cried: 

"  I  just  couldn't  go  without  another  look  at  the 
horses,  Bob." 

Crosby,  on  the  beam,  did  not  fail  to  observe  the 
rich,  tender  tone  of  the  voice,  and  it  would  have  re- 
quired almost  total  darkness  to  obscure  the  beauty 
of  her  face.  Her  companion  was  older  and  coarser, 
and  he  found  delight  in  the  belief  that  she  was  the 
better  half  of  the  disagreeable  Mr.  Austin. 

"  Good-afternoon,  Mrs.  Delancy !  "  came  a  fine 
masculine  voice  from  nowhere.  The  ladies  started  in 
amazement,  Mr.  Austin  ground  his  teeth,  the  dog 
took  another  tired  leap  upward ;  Mr.  Crosby  took  off 
his  hat  gallantly,  and  waited  patiently  for  the  lady 
to  discover  his  whereabouts. 

"  Who  is  it,  Bob?  "  cried  the  tall  one,  and  Crosby 
patted  his  bump  of  shrewdness  happily.  "  Who  have 
you  in  hiding  here?  " 

"  I'm  not  in  hiding,  Mrs.  Delancy.  I'm  a  prisoner, 
that's  all.  I'm  right  near  the  top  of  the  ladder  di- 
rectly in  front  of  you.  You  know  me  only  through 
the  mails,  but  my  partner,  Mr.  Rolfe,  is  known  to 
you  personally.  My  name  is  Crosby." 


THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG  13 

"  How  very  strange,"  she  cried  in  wonder.  "  Why 
don't  you  come  down,  Mr  Crosby?  " 

"  I  hate  to  admit  it,  but  I'm  afraid.  There's  the 
dog,  you  know.  Have  you  any  influence  over 
him?" 

"  None  whatever.  He  hates  me.  Perhaps  Mr. 
Austin  can  manage  him.  Oh,  isn't  it  ludicrous?  "  and 
she  burst  into  hearty  laughter.  It  was  a  very  musical 
laugh,  but  Crosby  considered  it  a  disagreeable  croak. 

"  But  Mr.  Austin  declines  to  interfere.  I  came  to 
see  you  on  private  business  and  am  not  permitted  to 
do  so." 

"  We  don't  know  this  fellow,  Louise,  and  I  can't 
allow  you  to  talk  to  him,"  said  Austin  brusquely.  "  I 
found  him  where  he  is  and  there  he  stays  until  the 
marshal  comes  out  from  town.  His  actions  have  been 
very  suspicious  and  must  be  investigated.  I  can't 
take  chances  on  letting  a  horse  thief  escape.  Swallow 
will  watch  him  until  I  can  secure  assistance." 

"  I  implore  you,  Mrs.  Delancy,  to  give  me  a  mo- 
ment or  two  in  which  to  explain,"  cried  Crosby.  "  He 
knows  I'm  not  here  to  steal  his  horses,  and  he  knows  I 
intend  to  punch  his  head  the  minute  I  get  the  chance." 
Mrs.  Austin's  little  shriek  of  dismay  and  her  hus- 
band's fierce  glare  did  not  check  the  flow  of  language 
from  the  beam.  "  I  am  Crosby  of  Rolfe  &  Crosby, 
your  counsel.  I  have  the  papers  here  for  you  to  sign 
and " 

"  Louise,  I  insist  that  you  come  away  from  here. 
This  fellow  is  a  fraud " 

"  He's  refreshing,  at  any  rate,"  said  Mrs.  Delancy 


14  THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG 

gaily.  "  There  can  be  no  harm  in  hearing  what  he 
has  to  say,  Bob." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  and  I  won't  detain  you  long." 

"  I've  a  mind  to  kick  you  out  of  this  barn,"  cried 
Austin  angrily. 

"  I  don't  believe  you're  tall  enough,  my  good  fel- 
low." Mr.  Crosby  was  more  than  amiable.  He  was 
positively  genial.  Mrs.  Delancy's  pretty  face  was 
the  picture  of  eager,  excited  mirth,  and  he  saw  that 
she  was  determined  to  see  the  comedy  to  the  end. 

"  Louise !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Austin,  speaking  for 
the  first  time.  "  You  are  not  fool  enough  to  credit 
this  fellow's  story,  I'm  sure.  Come  to  the  house  at 
once.  I  will  not  stay  here."  Mrs.  Austin's  voice  was 
hard  and  biting,  and  Crosby  also  caught  the  quick 
glance  that  passed  between  husband  and  wife. 

"  I  am  sure  Mrs.  Delancy  will  not  be  so  unkind  as 
to  leave  me  after  I've  had  so  much  trouble  in  getting 
an  audience.  Here  is  my  card,  Mrs.  Delancy." 
Crosby  tossed  a  card  from  his  perch,  but  Swallow 
gobbled  it  up  instantly.  Mrs.  Delancy  gave  a  little 
cry  of  disappointment,  and  Crosby  promptly  apolo- 
gized for  the  dog's  greediness.  "  Mr.  Austin  knows 
I'm  Crosby,"  he  concluded. 

"  I  know  nothing  of  the  sort,  sir,  and  I  forbid  Mrs. 
Delancy  holding  further  conversation  with  you. 
This  is  an  outrageous  imposition,  Louise.  You  must 
hurry,  by  the  way,  or  we'll  miss  the  train,"  said  Aus- 
tin, biting  his  lip  impatiently. 

"  That  reminds  me,  I  also  take  the  four  o'clock 
train  for  Chicago,  Mrs.  Delancy.  If  you  prefer,  we 


THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG  15 

can  talk  over  our  affairs  on  the  train  instead  of  here. 
I'll  confess  this  isn't  a  very  dignified  manner  in  which 
to  hold  a  consultation,"  said  Crosby  apologetically. 

"  Will  you  be  kind  enough  to  state  the  nature  of 
your  business,  Mr.  Crosby?  "  said  the  young  woman, 
ignoring  Mr.  Austin. 

"Then  you  believe  I'm  Crosby?"  cried  that  gen- 
tleman triumphantly. 

"  Louise !  "  cried  Mrs.  Austin  in  despair. 

"  In  spite  of  your  present  occupation,  I  believe 
you  are  Crosby,"  said  Mrs.  Delancy  merrily. 

"  But,  good  gracious,  I  can't  talk  business  with 
you  from  this  confounded  beam,"  he  cried  lugubri- 
ously. 

"  Mr.  Austin  will  call  the  dog  away,"  she  said  con- 
fidently, turning  to  the  man  in  the  door.  Austin's 
sallow  face  lighted  with  a  sudden  malicious  grin,  and 
there  was  positive  joy  in  his  voice. 

"  You  may  be  satisfied,  but  I  am  not.  If  you 
desire  to  transact  business  with  this  impertinent 
stranger,  Mrs.  Delancy,  you'll  have  to  do  so  under 
existing  conditions.  I  do  not  approve  of  him  or  his 
methods,  and  my  dog  doesn't  either.  You  can  trust  a 
dog  for  knowing  a  man  for  what  he  is.  Mrs.  Austin 
and  I  are  going  to  the  house.  You  may  remain,  of 
course;  I  have  no  right  to  command  you  to  follow. 
When  you  are  ready  to  drive  to  the  station,  please 
come  to  the  house.  I'll  be  ready.  Your  Mr.  Crosby 
may  leave  when  he  likes — if  he  can.  Come,  Eliza- 
beth." With  this  defiant  thrust,  Mr.  Austin  stalked 
from  the  barn,  followed  by  his  wife.  Mrs.  Delancy 


16  THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG 

started  to  follow  but  checked  herself  immediately,  a 
flush  of  anger  mounting  to  her  brow.  After  a  long 
pause  she  spoke. 

"  I  don't  understand  how  you  came  to  be  where  you 
are,  Mr.  Crosby,"  she  said  slowly.  He  related  his 
experiences  rapidly  and  laughed  with  her  simply  be- 
cause she  had  a  way  with  her. 

"  You'll  pardon  me  for  laughing,"  she  giggled. 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  he  replied  gallantly.  "  It 
must  be  very  funny.  However,  this  is  not  business. 
You  are  in  a  hurry  to  get  away  from  here  and — I'm 
not,  it  seems.  Briefly,  Mrs.  Delancy,  I  have  the  pa- 
pers you  are  to  sign  before  we  begin  your  action 
against  the  Fairwater  estate.  You  know  what  they 
are  through  Mr.  Rolfe." 

"  Well,  I'm  sorry,  Mr.  Crosby,  to  say  to  you  that 
I  have  decided  to  abandon  the  matter.  A  satisfac- 
tory compromise  is  under  way." 

"  So  I've  been  told.  But  are  you  sure  you  under- 
stand yourself?  " 

"  Perfectly,  thank  you." 

"  This  is  a  very  unsatisfactory  place  from  which 
to  argue  my  case,  Mrs.  Delancy.  Can't  you  dispose 
of  the  dog?" 

"  Only  God  disposes." 

"  Well,  do  you  mind  telling  me  what  the  compro- 
mise provides?"  She  stared  at  him  for  a  moment 
haughtily,  but  his  smile  won  the  point  for  him.  She 
told  him  everything  and  then  looked  very  much  dis- 
pleased when  he  swore  distinctly. 

"  Pardon  me,  but  you  are  getting  very  much  the 


THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG  17 

worst  of  it  in  this  deal.  It  is  the  most  contemptible 
scheme  to  rob  that  I  ever  heard  of.  By  this  arrange- 
ment you  are  to  get  farming  lands  and  building  lots 
in  rural  towns  worth  in  all  about  $100,000,  I'd  say. 
Don't  you  know  that  you  are  entitled  to  nearly  half 
a  million?  " 

"  Oh,  dear,  no.  By  right,  my  share  is  less  than 
$75,000,"  she  cried  triumphantly. 

"  Who  told  you  so  ?  "  he  demanded,  and  she  saw 
a  very  heavy  frown  on  his  erstwhile  merry  face. 

"  Why — why,  Mr.  Austin  and  another  brother-in- 
law,  Mr.  Gray,  both  of  whom  are  very  kind  to  me  in 
the  matter,  I'm  sure." 

"  Mrs.  Delancy,  you  are  being  robbed  by  these  fel- 
lows. Can't  you  see  that  these  brothers-in-law  and 
their  wives  will  profit  immensely  if  they  succeed  in 
keeping  the  wool  over  your  eyes  long  enough  ?  Let  me 
show  you  some  figures."  He  excitedly  drew  a  packet 
of  papers  from  his  pocket  and  in  five  minutes'  time 
had  her  gasping  with  the  knowledge  that  she  was  le- 
gally entitled  to  more  than  half  a  million  of  dollars. 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  "  she  cried,  unable  to  believe  her 
ears. 

"  Absolutely.  Here  is  the  inventory  and  here  are 
the  figures  to  corroborate  everything  I  say." 

"  But  they  had  figures,  too,"  she  cried  in  perplex- 
ity. 

"  Certainly.  Figures  are  wonderful  things.  I 
only  ask  you  to  defer  this  plan  to  compromise  until 
we  are  able  to  thoroughly  convince  you  that  I  am  not 
misrepresenting  the  facts  to  you." 


18^  THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG 

"  Oh,  if  I  could  only  believe  you !  " 

"  I'd  toss  the  documents  down  to  you  if  I  were 
not  afraid  they'd  join  my  card.  That  is  a  terribly 
ravenous  beast.  Surely  you  can  coax  him  out  of  the 
barn,"  he  added  eagerly. 

"  I  can  try,  but  persuasion  is  difficult  with  a  bull- 
dog, you  know,"  she  said  doubtfully.  "  It  is  much 
easier  to  persuade  a  man,"  she  smiled. 

"  I  trust  you  won't  try  to  persuade  me  to  come 
down,"  he  said  in  alarm. 

"  Mr.  Austin  is  a  brute  to  treat  you  in  this  man- 
ner," she  cried  indignantly. 

"  I  wouldn't  treat  a  dog  as  he  is  treating  me." 

"  Oh,  I  am  sure  you  couldn't,"  she  cried  in  perfect 
sincerity.  "  Swallow  doesn't  like  me,  but  I'll  try  to 
get  him  away.  You  can't  stay  up  there  all  night." 

"  By  Jove !  "  he  exclaimed  sharply. 

"  What  is  it?  "  she  asked  quickly. 

"  I  had  forgotten  an  engagement  in  Chicago  for  to- 
night. Box  party  at  the  comic  opera,"  he  said,  look- 
ing nervously  at  his  watch. 

"  It  would  be  too  bad  if  you  missed  it,"  she  said 
sweetly.  "You'd  be  much  more  comfortable  in  a 
box." 

"  You  are  consoling  at  least.  Are  you  going  to 
coax  him  off?  " 

"  In  behalf  of  the  box  party,  I'll  try.  Come,  Swal- 
low. There's  a  nice  doggie !  " 

Crosby  watched  the  proceedings  with  deepest  in- 
terest and  concern  and  not  a  little  admiration.  But 
not  only  did  Swallow  refuse  to  abdicate  but  he  seemed 


THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG  19 

to  take  decided  exceptions  to  the  feminine  method  of 
appeal.  He  evidently  did  not  like  to  be  called 
"  doggie,"  "  pet,"  "  dearie,"  and  all  such. 

"  He  won't  come,"  she  cried  plaintively. 

"  I  have  it ! "  he  exclaimed,  his  face  brightening. 
"  Will  you  hand  me  that  three-tined  pitchfork  over 
there?  With  that  in  my  hands  I'll  make  Swallow 
see — Look  out !  For  heaven's  sake,  don't  go  near 
him!  He'll  kill  you."  She  had  taken  two  or  three 
steps  toward  the  dog,  her  hand  extended  pleadingly, 
only  to  be  met  by  an  ominous  growl,  a  fine  display  of 
teeth,  and  a  bristling  back.  As  if  paralyzed,  she 
halted  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder,  terror  suddenly  tak- 
ing possession  of  her. 

"  Can  you  get  the  pitchfork?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  to  move,"  she  moaned.  "  He  is  horri- 
ble—horrible !" 

"  I'll  come  down,  Mrs.  Delancy,  and  hang  the  con- 
sequences," Crosby  cried,  and  was  suiting  the  action 
to  the  word  when  she  cried  out  in  remonstrance. 

"  Don't  come  down — don't !  He'll  kill  you.  I 
forbid  you  to  come  down,  Mr.  Crosby.  Look  at  him ! 
Oh,  he's  coming  toward  me !  Don't  come  down !  "  she 
shrieked.  "  I'll  come  up !  " 

Grasping  her  skirts  with  one  hand  she  started 
frantically  up  the  ladder,  her  terrified  eyes  looking 
into  the  face  of  the  man  above.  There  was  a  vicious 
snarl  from  the  dog,  a  savage  lunge,  and  then  some- 
thing closed  over  her  arm  like  a  vice.  She  felt  herself 
being  jerked  upward  and  a  second  later  she  was  on  the 
beam  beside  the  flushed  young  man  whose  strong 


20  THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG 

hand  and  not  the  dog's  jaws  had  reached  her  first. 
He  was  obliged  to  support  her  for  a  few  minutes  with 
one  of  his  emphatic  arms,  so  near  was  she  to  fainting. 

"  Oh,"  she  gasped  at  last,  looking  into  his  eyes 
questioningly.  "  Did  he  bite  me?  I  was  not  sure,  you 
know.  He  gave  such  an  awful  leap  for  me.  How  did 
you  do  it?  " 

"  A  simple  twist  of  the  wrist,  as  the  prestidigi- 
tators say.  You  had  a  close  call,  my  dear  Mrs.  De- 
lancy."  He  was  a-quivcr  with  new  sensations  that 
were  sending  his  spirits  sky  high.  After  all  it  was  not 
turning  out  so  badly. 

"  He  would  have  dragged  me  down  had  it  not  been 
for  you.  And  I  might  have  been  torn  to  pieces,"  she 
shuddered,  glancing  down  at  the  now  infuriated  dog. 

"It  would  have  been  appalling,"  he  agreed,  dis- 
creetly allowing  her  to  imagine  the  worst. 

"  How  can  I  ever  thank  you  ? "  cried  she  im- 
pulsively. He  made  a  very  creditable  show  of 
embarrassment  in  the  effort  to  convince  her  that  he 
had  accomplished  only  what  any  man  would  have 
attempted  under  similar  circumstances.  She  was 
thoroughly  convinced  that  no  other  man  could  have 
succeeded. 

"Well,  we're  in  a  pretty  position,  are  we  not?  " 
he  asked  in  the  end. 

"  I  think  I  can  stick  on  without  being  held,  Mr. 
Crosby,"  she  said,  and  his  arm  slowly  and  regretfully 
came  to  parade  rest. 

"  Are  you  sure  you  won't  get  dizzy  ?  "  he  demanded 
in  deep  solicitude. 


THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG  21 

"I'll  not  look  down,"  she  said,  smiling  into  his 
eyes.  He  lost  the  power  of  speech  for  a  moment. 
"  May  I  look  at  those  figures  now?  " 

For  the  next  ten  minutes  she  studiously  followed 
him  as  he  explained  the  contents  of  the  various 
papers.  She  held  the  sheets  and  they  sat  very  close  to 
each  other  on  the  big  beam.  The  dog  looked  on  in 
sour  disgust. 

"  They  cannot  be  wrong,"  she  cried  at  last.  Her 
eyes  were  sparkling.  "  You  are  as  good  as  an  angel." 

"  I  only  regret  that  I  can't  complete  the  illusion 
by  unfolding  a  strong  and  convenient  pair  of  wings," 
he  said  dolorously.  "  How  are  we  to  catch  that  train 
for  Chicago?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  we  can't,"  she  said  demurely.  "  You'll 
miss  the  box  party." 

"  That's  a  pleasure  easily  sacrificed." 

"  Besides,  you  are  seeing  me  on  business.  Pleasure 
should  never  interfere  with  business,  you  know." 

"  It  doesn't  seem  to,"  he  said,  and  the  dog  saw  them 
smile  tranquilly  into  each  other's  eyes. 

"  Oh,  isn't  this  too  funny  for  words?  "  He  looked 
very  grateful. 

"  I  wonder  when  Austin  will  condescend  to  release 
us." 

"  I  have  come  to  a  decision,  Mr.  Crosby,"  she  said 
irrelevantly. 

"  Indeed'?  " 

"  I  shall  never  speak  to  Robert  Austin  again,  and 
I'll  never  enter  his  house  as  long  as  I  live,"  she  an- 
nounced determinedly. 


22  THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG 

"  Good !  But  you  forget  your  personal  effects. 
They  are  in  his  house."  He  was  overflowing  with  hap- 
piness. 

"  They  have  all  gone  to  the  depot  and  I  have  the 
baggage  checks.  My  ticket  and  my  money  are  in  this 
purse.  You  see,  we  are  quite  on  the  same  footing." 

"  I  don't  feel  sure  of  my  footing,"  he  commented 
ruefully.  "  By  the  way,  I  have  a  fountain  pen. 
Would  you  mind  signing  these  papers?  We'll  be 
quite  sure  of  our  standing  at  least." 

She  deliberately  spread  out  the  papers  on  the 
beam,  and,  while  he  obligingly  kept  her  from  falling, 
signed  seven  documents  in  a  full,  decisive  hand: 
"Louise  Hampton  Delancy." 

"  There !  That  means  that  you  are  to  begin  suit, 
she  said  finally,  handing  the  pen  to  him. 

"I'll  not  waste  an  instant,"  he  said  meaningly. 
"  In  fact,  the  suit  is  already  under  way." 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  she  said,  but  she 
flushed. 

"  That's  what  a  lawyer  says  when  he  goes  to  court," 
he  explained. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  thoroughly  convinced. 

At  the  end  of  another  hour  the  two  on  the  beam 
were  looking  at  each  other  with  troubled  eyes.  When 
he  glanced  at  his  watch  at  six  o'clock,  his  face  was 
extremely  sober.  There  was  a  tired,  wistful  expres- 
sion in  her  eyes. 

"  Do  you  think  they'll  keep  us  here  all  night?  "  she 
asked  plaintively. 

"  Heaven  knows  what  that  scoundrel  will  do." 


THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG  23 

"  We  have  the  papers  signed,  at  any  rate."  She 
sighed,  trying  to  revive  the  dying  spark  of  humor. 

"  And  we  won't  be  lonesome,"  he  added,  glaring  at 
the  dog. 

"  Did  you  ever  dream  that  a  man  could  be  so 
despicable?  " 

"  Ah,  here  comes  some  one  at  last,"  he  cried, 
brightening  up. 

The  figure  of  Robert  Austin  appeared  in  the  door- 
way. 

"  Oho,  you're  both  up  there  now,  are  you  ?  "  he 
snapped.  "  That's  why  you  didn't  go  to  the  depot, 
is  it?  Well,  how  has  the  business  progressed?  " 

"  She  has  signed  all  the  papers,  if  that's  what  you 
want  to  know,"  said  Crosby  tantalizingly. 

"  That's  all  the  good  it  "will  do  her.  We'll  beat 
you  in  court,  Mr.  Crosby,  and  we  won't  leave  a  dol- 
lar for  you,  my  dear  sister-in-law,"  snarled  Austin, 
his  face  white  with  rage. 

"And  now  that  we've  settled  our  business,  and 
missed  our  train,  perhaps  you'll  call  off  your  con- 
founded dog,"  said  Crosby.  Austin's  face  broke  into 
a  wide  grin,  and  he  chuckled  aloud.  Then  he  leaned 
against  the  door-post  and  held  his  sides. 

"  What's  the  joke?"  demanded  the  irate  Crosby. 
Mrs.  Delancy  clasped  his  arm  and  looked  down  upon 
Austin  as  if  he  had  suddenly  gone  mad. 

"You  want  to  come  down,  eh?"  cackled  Austin. 
"  Why  don't  you  come  down?  I  know  you'll  pardon 
my  laughter,  but  I  have  just  remembered  that  you 
may  be  a  horse  thief  and  that  I  was  not  going  to  let 


24  THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG 

you  escape.  Mrs.  Delancy  refuses  to  speak  to  me. 
so  I  decline  to  ask  her  to  come  down." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you'll  keep  this  lady  up 
here  for — "  began  Crosby  fiercely.  Her  hand  on  his 
arm  prevented  him  from  leaping  to  the  floor. 

"  She  may  come  down  when  she  desires,  and  so  may 
you,  sir,  roared  Austin  stormily. 

"  But  some  one  will  release  us,  curse  you,  and  then 
I'll  make  you  sorry  you  ever  lived,"  hissed  Crosby. 
"  You  are  a  black-hearted  cur,  a  cowardly  dog " 

"  Don't — don't !  "  whispered  the  timid  woman  be- 
side him. 

"  You  are  helping  your  cause  beautifully,"  sneered 
Austin.  "  My  men  have  instructions  to  stay  away 
from  the  barn  until  the  marshal  comes.  I,  myself, 
expect  to  feed  and  bed  the  horses." 

Deliberately  he  went  about  the  task  of  feeding 
the  horses.  The  two  on  the  beam  looked  on  in  help- 
less silence.  Crosby  had  murder  in  his  heart.  At 
last  the  master  of  the  situation  started  for  the  door. 

"Good-night,"  he  said  sarcastically.  "Pleasant 
dreams." 

"  You  brute,"  cried  Crosby,  hoarse  with  anger.  A 
sob  came  from  his  tired  companion  and  Crosby 
turned  to  her,  his  heart  full  of  tenderness  and — 
shame,  perhaps.  Tears  were  streaming  down  her 
cheeks  and  her  shoulders  drooped  dejectedly. 

"  What  shall  we  do?  "  she  moaned.  Crosby  could 
frame  no  answer.  He  gently  took  her  hand  in  his 
and  held  it  tightly.  She  made  no  effort  to  withdraw 
it. 


THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG  25 

"I'm  awfully  sorry,"  he  said  softly.  "Don't 
cry,  little  woman.  It  will  all  end  right,  I  know." 

Just  then  Austin  reentered  the  barn.  Without 
a  word  he  strode  over  and  emptied  a  pan  of  raw  meat 
on  the  floor  in  front  of  the  dog.  Then  he  calmly  de- 
parted, but  Crosby  could  have  sworn  he  heard  him 
chuckle.  The  captives  looked  at  each  other  dumbly 
for  a  full  minute,  one  with  wet,  wide-open,  hurt  eyes, 
the  other  with  consternation.  Gradually  the  sober 
light  in  their  eyes  faded  away  and  feeble  smiles  de- 
veloped into  peals  of  laughter.  The  irony  of  the 
situation  bore  down  upon  them  irresistibly  and  their 
genuine,  healthy  young  minds  saw  the  picture  in  all 
of  its  ludicrous  colorings.  Not  even  the  prospect  of  a 
night  in  mid-air  could  conquer  the  wild  desire  to 
laugh. 

"  Isn't  it  too  funny  for  words  ?  "  she  laughed 
bravely  through  her  tears. 

Then,  for  some  reason,  both  relapsed  into  dark, 
silent  contemplation  of  the  dog  who  was  so  calmly  en- 
joying his  evening  repast. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  admit  it,  Mr.  Crosby,  but  I  am 
growing  frightfully  hungry,"  she  said  wistfully. 

"It  has  just  occurred  to  me  that  I  haven't 
eaten  a  bite  since  seven  o'clock  this  morning,"  he 
said. 

"  You  poor  man !  I  wish  I  could  cook  something 
for  you." 

"  You  might  learn." 

"  You  know  what  I  mean,"  she  explained  redden- 
ing a  bit.  "  You  must  be  nearly  famished." 


26  THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG 

"  I  prefer  to  think  of  something  more  interesting," 
he  said  coolly. 

"  It  is  horrid !  "  she  sobbed.  "  See,  it  is  getting 
dark.  Night  is  coming.  Mr.  Crosby,  what  is  to  be- 
come of  us?  "  He  was  very  much  distressed  by  her 
tears  and  a  desperate  resolve  took  root  in  his  breast. 
She  was  so  tired  and  dispirited  that  she  seemed  glad 
when  he  drew  her  close  to  him  and  pressed  her  head 
upon  his  shoulder.  He  heard  the  long  sigh  of  relief 
and  relaxation  and  she  peered  curiously  over  her  wet 
lace  handkerchief  when  he  muttered  tenderly: 

"Poor  little  chap!" 

Then  she  sighed  again  quite  securely,  and  there 
was  a  long  silence,  broken  regularly  and  rhythmically 
by  the  faint  little  catches  that  once  were  tearful 


"  Oh,  dear  me !  It  is  quite  dark,"  she  cried  sud- 
denly, and  he  felt  a  shudder  run  through  her 
body. 

"  Where  could  you  go  to-night,  Mrs.  Delancy,  if 
we  were  to  succeed  in  getting  away  from  here?  " 
he  asked  abruptly.  She  felt  his  figure  straighten  and 
his  arm  grow  tense  as  if  a  sudden  determination  had 
charged  through  it. 

"Why— why,  I  hadn't  thought  about  that,"  she 
confessed,  confronted  by  a  new  proposition. 

"  There's  a  late  night  train  for  Chicago,"  he  vol- 
unteered. 

"  But  how  are  we  to  catch  it?  " 

"  If  you  are  willing  to  walk  to  town  I  think  you  can 
catch  it,"  he  said,  a  strange  ring  in  his  voice. 


THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG  27 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  demanded,  looking  up 
at  his  face  quickly. 

"Can  you  walk  the  two  miles?"  he  persisted. 
"  The  train  leaves  Dexter  at  eleven  o'clock  and  it  is 
now  nearly  eight." 

"  Of  course  I  can  walk  it,"  she  said  eagerly.  "  I 
could  walk  a  hundred  miles  to  get  away  from  this 
place." 

"  You'll  miss  the  New  York  train,  of  course." 

"  I've  changed  my  mind,  Mr.  Crosby.  I  shall 
remain  in  Chicago  until  we  have  had  our  revenge  on 
Austin  and  the  others." 

"  That's  very  good  of  you.  May  I  ask  where  you 
stop  in  Chicago?  " 

"  My  apartments  are  in  the  C Building.  My 

mother  lives  with  me." 

"  Will  you  come  to  see  me  some  time?  "  he  asked, 
an  odd  smile  on  his  lips. 

"  Come  to  see  you  ?  "  she  cried  in  surprise.  "  The 
idea!  What  do  you  mean?" 

"  I  may  not  be  able  to  call  on  you  for  some  time, 
but  you  can  be  very  good  to  me  by  coming  to  see  me. 
I'll  be  stopping  at  St.  Luke's  Hospital  for  quite  a 
while." 

"At  St.  Luke's  Hospital?  I  don't  understand," 
she  cried  perplexed. 

"  You  see,  my  dear  Mrs.  Delancy,  I  have  come  to  a 
definite  conclusion  in  regard  to  our  present  position. 
You  must  not  stay  here  all  night.  I'd  be  a  coward 
and  a  cur  to  subject  you  to  such  a  thing.  Well,  I'm 
going  down  to  tackle  that  dog." 


28  THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG 

"  To — tackle — the — dog,"  she  gasped. 
"  And  while  I'm  keeping  him  busy  you  are  to  cut 
and  run  for  the  road  down  there.    Then  you'll  have 
easy  sailing  for  town." 

"  Mr.  Crosby,"  she  said  firmly,  clasping  his  arm ; 
"you  are  not  to  leave  this  beam.  Do  you  think 
I'll  permit  you  to  go  down  there  and  be  torn  to  pieces 
by  that  beast,  just  for  the  sake  of  letting  me  cut  and 
run,  as  you  call  it?  I'd  be  a  bigger  brute  than  the 

dog  and — and " 

"  Mrs.  Delancy,  my  mind  is  made  up.  I'm  going 
down!" 

"  That  settles  it !  I'm  coming  too,"  she  proclaimed 
emphatically. 

"To  be  sure.  That's  the  plan.  You'll  escape 
while  I  hold  Swallow." 

"  I'll  do  nothing  of  the  sort.  You  shall  not  sacri- 
fice yourself  for  my  sake.  I'd  stay  up  here  with  you 
all  the  rest  of  my  life  before  I'd  permit  you  to  do 
that." 

"  I'll  remind  you  of  that  offer  later  on,  my  dear 
Mrs.  Delancy,  when  we  are  not  so  pressed  for  time. 
Just  now  you  must  be  practical,  however.  We  can't 
stay  up  here  all  night." 

"  Please,  Mr.  Crosby,  for  my  sake,  don't  go  down 
there.  To  please  me,  don't  be  disfigured.  I  know 
you  are  awfully  brave  and  strong,  but  he  is  such  a 
huge,  vicious  dog.  Won't  you  please  stay  here?  " 

"  Ten  minutes  from  now  it  will  be  too  dark  to  see 
the  dog  and  he'll  have  an  advantage  over  me.  Listen : 
I'll  meet  you  at  the  depot  in  an  hour  and  a  half. 


THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG  29 

This  is  final,  Mrs.  Delancy.  Will  you  do  as  I  tell 
you?  Run  for  the  road  and  then  to  town.  I'll 
promise  to  join  you  there." 

"  Oh,  dear !  Oh,  dear !  "  she  moaned,  as  he  drew 
away  from  her  and  swung  one  foot  to  the  ladder. 
"  I  shall  die  if  you  go  down  there." 

"  I  am  going  just  the  same.  Don't  be  afraid,  little 
woman.  My  pocket  knife  is  open  and  it  is  a  trusty 
blade.  Now,  be  brave  and  be  quick.  Follow  me  down 
the  ladder  and  cut  for  it." 

"  Please,  please,  please !  "  she  implored,  wringing 
her  hands. 

But  he  was  already  half-way  down  the  ladder  and 
refused  to  stop. 

Suddenly  Crosby  paused  as  if  checked  in  his  prog- 
ress by  some  insurmountable  obstacle.  The  dog 
was  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder,  snarling  with  joy  over 
the  prospective  end  of  his  long  vigil.  Above,  Mrs. 
Delancy  was  moaning  and  imploring  him  to  come 
back  to  her  side,  even  threatening  to  spring  from  the 
beam  to  the  floor  before  he  could  reach  the  bot- 
tom. 

"  By  George !  "  he  exclaimed,  and  then  climbed  up 
three  or  four  rounds  of  the  ladder,  greatly  to  the 
annoyance  of  the  dog. 

"  What  is  it?  "  cried  Mrs.  Delancy,  recovering  her 
balance  on  the  beam. 

"  Let  me  think  for  a  minute,"  he  answered,  delib- 
erately resting  his  elbow  on  an  upper  round. 

"  It  is  about  time  you  were  doing  a  little  thinking," 
she  said,  relief  and  asperity  in  her  voice.  "  In  an- 


30  THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG 

other  second  I  should  have  jumped  into  that  dog's 
jaws." 

"  I  believe  it  can  be  done,"  he  went  on,  excited  en- 
thusiasm growing  in  his  voice.  "  That's  what  bull- 
dogs are  famous  for,  isn't  it?  " 

"I  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about,  but 
I  do  know  that  whenever  they  take  hold  of  anything 
they  have  to  be  treated  for  lockjaw  before  they  will 
let  go.  If  you  don't  come  up  here  beside  me  I'll  have 
a  fit,  Mr.  Crosby." 

"  That's  it — that's  what  I  mean,"  he  cried  eagerly. 
"If  they  close  those  jaws  upon  anything  they  won't 
let  go  until  death  them  doth  part.  Gad,  I  believe 
I  see  a  way  out  of  this  pickle." 

"  I  don't  see  how  that  can  help  us.  The  dog's  jaws 
are  the  one  and  only  obstacle,  and  it  is  usually  the 
other  fellow's  death  that  parts  them.  Oh,"  she  went 
on,  plaintively,  "  if  we  could  only  pull  his  teeth. 
Good  heaven,  Mr.  Crosby,"  sitting  up  very  abruptly, 
"  you  are  not  thinking  of  undertaking  it,  are  you?  " 

"  No,  but  I've  got  a  scheme  that  will  make  Swallow 
ashamed  of  himself  to  the  end  of  his  days.  I  can't 
help  laughing  over  it."  He  leaned  back  and  laughed 
heartily.  "  Hold  my  coat,  please."  He  removed  his 
coat  quickly  and  passed  it  up  to  her. 

"  I  insist  on  knowing  what  you  intend  doing,"  she 
exclaimed. 

"  Just  wait  and  see  me  show  Mr.  Swallow  a  new 
trick  or  two."  He  had  already  taken  his  watch  and 
chain,  his  fountain  pen,  and  other  effects  from  his 
vest,  jamming  them  into  his  trousers  pockets.  Mrs. 


THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG  31 

Delancy,  in  the  growing  darkness,  looked  on,  puzzled 
and  anxious. 

"You  might  tell  me,"  she  argued  resentfully. 
"Are  you  going  to  try  to  swim  out?  " 

Folding  the  vest  lengthwise,  he  took  a  firm  grip 
on  the  collar,  and  cautiously  descended  the  ladder. 

"  I'll  not  come  to  the  hospital,"  she  cried  warn- 
ingly.  "  Don't !  he'll  bite  your  leg  off !  " 

"  I'm  merely  teasing  him,  Mrs  Delancy.  He  sha'n't 
harm  my  legs,  don't  fear.  Now  watch  for  develop- 
ments." Pausing  just  beyond  reach  of  the  dog's 
mightiest  leaps,  he  took  a  firm  hold  on  the  ladder  and 
swung  down  with  the  vest  until  it  almost  slapped 
the  head  of  the  angry  animal.  It  was  like  casting 
a  fly  directly  at  the  head  of  a  hungry  pickerel. 
Swallow's  eager  jaws  closed  down  upon  the  cloth  and 
the  teeth  met  like  a  vice.  The  heavy  body  of  the 
brute  almost  jerked  Crosby's  arm  from  the  socket, 
but  he  braced  himself,  recovered  his  poise,  and  clung 
gaily  to  the  ladder,  with  the  growling,  squirming  dog 
dangling  free  of  the  floor.  Mrs.  Delancy  gave  a  little 
shriek  of  terror. 

"  Are  you — going  to  bring  him  up  here  ?  "  she 


"  Heaven  knows  where  he'll  end." 

"  But  he  will  ruin  your  vest." 

"  I'll  charge  it  up  to  your  account.  Item :  one 
vest,  fifteen  dollars." 

By  this  time  he  was  swinging  Swallow  slowly  back 
and  forth,  and  he  afterwards  said  that  it  required  no 
little  straining  of  his  muscles. 


32  THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG 

"  You  extravagant  thing !  "  she  cried,  but  did  not 
tell  whether  she  meant  his  profligacy  in  purchasing 
or  his  wantonness  in  destroying.  "  And  now,  pray 
enlighten  me.  Are  you  swinging  him  just  for  fun  or 
are  you  crazy?  " 

"  Everything  depends  on  his  jaws  and  my  strong 
right  arm,"  he  said,  and  he  was  beginning  to  pant 
from  the  exertion.  Swallow  was  swinging  higher  and 
higher. 

"Well,  it  is  the  most  aimless  proceeding  I  ever 
saw." 

"  I  hope  not.  On  second  thought,  everything 
depends  on  my  aim." 

"  And  what  is  your  aim,  Mr.  Hercules  ?  " 

"  See  that  opening  above  the  box-stall  over  there  ?  " 

"  Dimly." 

"  That's  my  aim.    Heavens,  he's  a  heavy  brute." 

"  Oh,  I  see ! "  she  cried  ecstatically,  clapping  her 
hands.  "  Delicious !  Lovely !  Oh,  Mr.  Crosby,  you 
are  so  clever." 

"  Don't  fall  off  that  beam,  please,"  he  panted. 
"  It  might  rattle  me." 

"I  can't  help  being  excited.  It  is  the  grandest 
thing  I  ever  heard  of.  He  can't  get  out  of  there, 
can  he?  Dear  me,  the  sides  of  that  stall  are  more 
than  eight  feet  high." 

"  He  can't — get — out — of  it  if — I  get  him — in," 
gasped  Crosby. 

Not  ten  feet  away  to  the  left  and  some  four  feet 
above  the  floor  level  there  was  a  wide  opening  into  a 
box-stall,  the  home  of  Mr.  Austin's  prize  stallion. 


THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG  33 

As  the  big  horse  was  inside  munching  his  hay,  Crosby 
was  reasonably  sure  that  the  stall  with  its  tall  sides 
was  securely  closed  and  bolted. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  mighty  creak  of  the  ladder, 
the  swish  of  a  heavy  body  through  the  air,  an  inter- 
rupted growl,  and  then  a  ripping  thud.  Swallow's 
stubby  body  shot  squarely  through  the  opening, 
accompanied  by  a  trusty  though  somewhat  sadly 
stretched  vest,  and  the  deed  was  done.  A  cry  of 
delight  came  from  the  beam,  a  shout  of  pride  and  re- 
lief from  the  ladder,  and  sounds  of  a  terrific  scramble 
from  the  stall.  First  there  was  a  sickening  grunt, 
then  a  surprised  howl,  then  the  banging  of  horse- 
hoofs,  and  at  last  a  combination  of  growls  and  howls 
that  proved  Swallow's  invasion  of  a  hornet's  nest. 

"  Thunderation !  "  came  in  sharp,  agonized  tones 
from  the  ladder. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  she  cried,  detecting  dis- 
aster in  the  exclamation. 

"  I  am  a — a — blooming  idiot,"  he  groaned.  "  I 
forgot  to  remove  a  roll  of  bills  from  an  upper  pocket 
in  that  vest !  " 

"  Oh,  is  that  all?  "  she  cried,  in  great  relief,  start- 
ing down  the  ladder. 

"All?  There  was  at  least  fifty  dollars  in  that 
roll,"  he  said,  from  the  floor,  not  forgetting  to  assist 
her  gallantly  to  the  bottom. 

"  You  can  add  it  to  my  bill,  you  know,"  she  said 
sweetly. 

"  But  it  leaves  me  dead  broke." 

"  You   forget   that   I  have  money,   Mr.    Crosby. 


34  THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG 

What  is  mine  to-night  is  also  yours.  I  think  we 
should  shake  hands  and  congratulate  one  another." 
Crosby's  sunny  nature  lost  its  cloud  in  an  instant,  and 
the  two  clasped  hands  at  the  bottom  of  the  ladder. 

"  I  think  it  is  time  to  cut  and  run,"  he  said.  "  It's 
getting  so  beastly  dark  we  won't  be  able  to  find  the 
road." 

"  And  there  is  no  moon  until  midnight.  But  come ; 
we  are  free.  Let  us  fly  the  hated  spot,  as  they  say  in 
the  real  novels.  How  good  the  air  feels !  " 

She  was  soon  leading  the  way  swiftly  toward  the 
gate.  Night  had  fallen  so  quickly  that  they  were  in 
utter  darkness.  There  were  lights  in  the  windows 
of  the  house  on  the  hill,  and  the  escaped  prisoners, 
with  one  impulse,  shook  their  clenched  hands  toward 
them. 

"  I  am  awfully  sorry,  Mr.  Crosby,  that  you  have 
endured  so  much  hardship  in  coming  to  see  me,"  she 
went  on.  "I  hope  you  haven't  many  such  clients 
as  I." 

"  One  is  enough,  I  assure  you,"  he  responded,  and 
somehow  she  took  it  as  a  compliment. 

"  I  suppose  our  next  step  is  to  get  to  the  railway 
station,"  she  said. 

"  Unless  you  will  condescend  to  lead  me  through 
this  assortment  of  plows,  woodpiles,  and  farm-wag- 
ons, I'm  inclined  to  think  my  next  step  will  be  my 
last.  Was  ever  night  so  dark?  "  Her  warm,  strong 
fingers  clutched  his  arm  and  then  dropped  to  his 
hand.  In  this  fashion  she  led  him  swiftly  through 
the  night,  down  a  short  embankment,  and  into  the 


THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG  35 

gravel  highway.  "  The  way  looks  dark  and  grewsome 
ahead  of  us,  Mrs.  Delancy.  As  your  lawyer,  I'd 
advise  you  to  turn  back  and  find  safe  lodging  with 
the  enemy.  It  is  going  to  storm,  I'm  sure." 

"That's  your  advice  as  a  lawyer,  Mr.  Crosby. 
Will  you  give  me  your  advice  as  a  friend?  "  she  said 
lightly.  Although  the  time  had  passed  when  her 
guiding  hand  was  necessary,  he  still  held  the  member 
in  his  own. 

"  I  couldn't  be  so  selfish,"  he  protested,  and  with- 
out another  word  they  started  off  down  the  road  to- 
ward town. 

"  Do  you  suppose  they  are  delaying  the  opera  in 
Chicago  until  you  come?  "  she  asked. 

"Poor  Graves!  he  said  he'd  kill  me  if  I  didn't 
come,"  said  Crosby,  laughing. 

"How  dreadful!" 

"  But  I'm  not  regretting  the  opera.  Quive  does 
not  sing  until  to-morrow  night." 

"  I  adore  Quive." 

"  You  can't  possibly  have  an  engagement  for  to- 
morrow night  either,"  he  said  reflectively. 

"  I  don't  see  how  I  could.  I  expected  to  be  on  a 
Pullman  sleeper." 

"  I'll  come  for  you  at  8: 15  then." 

"  You  are  very  good,  Mr.  Crosby,  but  I  have  an- 
other plan." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  for  presuming  to — "  he  began, 
and  a  hot  flush  mounted  to  his  brow. 

"  You  are  to  come  at  seven  for  dinner,"  she  sup- 
plemented delightedly. 


36  THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG 

"  What  a  nice  place  the  seventh  heaven  is ! "  he 
cried  warmly. 

"  Sh !  "  she  whispered  suddenly,  and  both  stopped 
stock-still.  "  There  is  a  man  with  a  lantern  at  the 
lower  gate.  See?  Over  yonder." 

"  What  of  it?     Who's  afraid  of  a  lantern?  " 

"  But  it  is  rather  odd  that  the  man  should  be  there. 
Just  see  what  he  is  doing  with  the  lantern,"  she  ex- 
postulated. 

"  He's  putting  it  on  the  top  of  the  gatepost,  that's 
all." 

"  Well,  there  must  be  an  object  in  that." 

"  I'll  ask  the  man." 

"  It  is  foolish  of  me  to  be  alarmed,  Mr.  Crosby, 
but  I  feel  in  my  bones  that  something  is  going  to 
happen." 

"  I  agree  with  you,  only  I  don't  feel  it  in  my  bones. 
It  affects  my  stomach.  Why  should  we  stand  here 
and  discuss  a  man  with  a  lantern  when  both  of  us  are 
starving  to  death  by  yards?  We  have  a  mile  and  a 
half  walk  ahead  of  us " 

"  Look !  A  buggy  is  stopping  at  the  gate — and 
there  is  another.  What  does  it  mean  ?  " 

Two  vehicles,  dimly  outlined  against  the  darkness, 
had  drawn  up  at  the  gate,  and  the  man  with  the 
lantern  advanced  to  converse  with  the  occupants. 

"  That  you,  Mr.  Austin  ?  "  called  a  voice  from  the 
first  buggy,  as  the  lantern  advanced. 

"  Yes.    How  many  men  have  you  with  you  ?  " 

"  Robert  Austin !  "  gasped  the  fair  watcher,  clutch- 
ing Crosby's  arm. 


THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG  37 

"  There  are  five  of  us,  Mr.  Austin.  I  guess  we  can 
take  him  all  right." 

Crosby  started  violently. 

*'  They're  after  me,  Mrs.  Delancy,"  he  whispered. 
A  moment  later  they  were  off  the  road  and  in  the 
dense  shadow  of  the  hedge. 

"  Is  he  still  in  the  barn,  Mr.  Austin?  "  demanded 
the  man  in  the  buggy. 

"  I  am  posistive  he  is.  No  human  being  could  get 
away  from  that  dog  of  mine."  Crosby  chuckled 
audibly,  and  Mrs.  Delancy  with  difficulty  suppressed 
a  proud  giggle. 

"  Well,  we  might  as  well  go  up  and  get  him  then. 
Do  you  think  he's  a  desperate  character?  " 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  him,  Davis.  He 
says  he  is  a  lawyer,  but  his  actions  were  so  strange 
that  I  thought  you'd  best  look  into  his  case.  A 
night  in  the  jail  won't  hurt  him,  and  if  he  can  prove 
that  he  is  what  he  says  he  is,  let  him  go  to-morrow. 
On  the  other  hand,  he  may  turn  out  to  be  a  very  im- 
portant capture." 

"  Oh,  this  is  rich ! "  whispered  Crosby  excitedly. 
"Austin  is  certainly  doing  the  job  up  brown.  But 
wait  till  he  consults  Swallow,  the  infallible;  he  won't 
be  so  positive."  For  a  few  minutes  the  party  of 
men  at  the  gate  conversed  in  low  tones,  the  listeners 
being  able  to  catch  but  few  of  the  words  uttered. 

"  Please  let  go  of  my  arm,  Mrs.  Delancy,"  said 
Crosby  suddenly. 

"  Where  are  you  going?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  tell  Austin  what  I  think  of  him. 


38  THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG 

You  don't  expect  me  to  stand  by  and  allow  a  pack 
of  jays  to  hunt  me  down  as  if  I  were  Jesse  James  or 
some  other  desperado,  do  you?" 

"Do  you  suppose  they  would  credit  your  story? 
They  will  throw  you  into  jail  and  there  you'd  stay 
until  some  one  came  down  from  Chicago  to  identify 
you." 

"  But  a  word  from  you  would  clear  me,"  he  said 
in  surprise. 

"  If  they  pinned  me  down  to  the  truth,  I  could  only 
say  I  had  never  seen  you  until  this  afternoon." 

"Great  Scott!  You  know  I  am  Crosby,  don't 
you?" 

"  I  am  positive  you  are,  but  what  would  you,  as 
a  lawyer,  say  to  me  if  you  were  cross-examining  me 
on  the  witness  stand?  You'd  ask  some  very  embar- 
rassing questions,  and  I  could  only  say  in  the  end 
that  the  suspected  horse  thief  told  me  his  name  and 
I  was  goose  enough  to  believe  him.  No,  my  dear 
friend,  I  think  the  safest  plan  is  to  take  advantage 
of  the  few  minutes'  start  we  have  and  escape  the 
law." 

"You  mean  that  I  must  run  from  these  fellows 
as  if  I  were  really  a  thief?  " 

"  Only  a  suspected  thief,  you  know." 

"  I'd  rather  be  arrested  a  dozen  times  than  to  de- 
sert you  at  this  time." 

"  Oh,  but  I'm  going  with  you,"  she  said  positively. 

"  Like  a  thief,  too?  I  could  not  permit  that,  you 
know.  Just  stop  and  think  how  awkward  for  you  it 
would  be  if  we  were  caught  flying  together." 


THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG  39 

"  Birds  of  a  feather.  It  might  have  been  worse  if 
you  had  not  disposed  of  Swallow." 

"  I  must  tell  you  what  a  genuine  brick  you  are. 
If  they  overtake  us  it  will  give  me  the  greatest  delight 
in  the  world  to  fight  the  whole  posse  for  your  sake." 

"  After  that,  do  you  wonder  I  want  to  go  with 
you?  "  she  whispered,  and  Crosby  would  have  fought 
a  hundred  men  for  her. 

The  marshal  and  his  men  were  now  following  Mr. 
Austin  and  the  lantern  toward  the  barn,  and  the 
road  was  quite  deserted.  Mrs.  Delancy  and  Crosby 
started  off  rapidly  in  the  direction  of  the  town.  The 
low  rumble  of  distant  thunder  came  to  their  ears, 
and  ever  and  anon  the  western  blackness  was  faintly 
illumined  by  flashes  of  lightning.  Neither  of  the  fugi- 
tives uttered  a  word  until  they  were  far  past  the 
gate. 

"  By  George,  Mrs.  Delancy,  we  are  forgetting  one 
important  thing,"  said  Crosby.  They  were  striding 
along  swiftly  arm  in  arm.  "  They'll  discover  our 
flight,  and  the  railway  station  will  be  just  where 
they'll  expect  to  find  us." 

"  Oh,  confusion !  We  can't  go  to  the  station,  can 
we?" 

"  We  can,  but  we'll  be  captured  with  humiliating 
ease." 

"  I  know  what  we  can  do.  Scott  Higgins  is  the 
tenant  on  my  farm,  and  he  lives  half  a  mile  farther 
from  town  than  Austin.  We  can  turn  back  to  his 
place,  but  we  will  have  to  cut  across  one  of  Mr. 
Austin's  fields." 


40  THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG 

"  Charming.  We  can  have  the  satisfaction  of 
trampling  on  some  of  Mr.  Austin's  early  wheat  crop. 
Right  about,  face!  But,  incidentally,  what  are  we 
to  do  after  we  get  to  Mr.  Higgins's?  "  They  were 
now  scurrying  back  over  the  ground  they  had  just 
traversed. 

"  Oh,  dear  me,  why  should  we  think  about  troubles 
until  we  come  to  them?  " 

"  I  wasn't  thinking  about  troubles.  I'm  thinking 
about  something  to  eat." 

"You  are  intensely  unromantic.  But  Mrs.  Hig- 
gins  is  awfully  good.  She  will  give  us  eggs  and  cakes 
and  milk  and  coffee  and — everything.  Won't  it  be 
jolly?" 

Five  minutes  later  they  were  plunging  through  a 
field  of  partly  grown  wheat,  in  what  she  averred  to 
be  the  direction  of  the  Higgins  home.  It  was  not 
good  walking,  but  they  were  young  and  strong  and 
very  much  interested  in  one  another  and  the  adven- 
ture. 

"  Hello,  what's  this?  A  river?  "  he  cried,  as  the 
swish  of  running  waters  came  to  his  ears. 

"Oh;  isn't  it  dreadful?  I  forgot  this  creek  was 
here,  and  there  is  no  bridge  nearer  than  a  mile.  What 
shall  we  do?  See  there  is  a  light  in  Higgins's  house 
over  there.  Isn't  it  disgusting?  I  could  sit  down 
and  cry,"  she  wailed.  In  the  distance  a  dog  was 
heard  barking  fiercely,  but  they  did  not  recognize  the 
voice  of  Swallow.  A  new  trouble  confronted  them. 

"  Don't  do  that,"  he  said  resignedly.  "  Remember 
how  Eliza  crossed  the  ice  with  the  bloodhound*  in 


THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG  41 

full  trail.  Do  you  know  how  deep  and  wide  the  creek 
is?" 

"  It's  a  tiny  bit  of  a  thing,  but  it's  wet,"  she  said 
ruefully. 

"I'll  carry  you  over."  And  a  moment  later  he 
was  splashing  through  the  shallow  brook,  holding 
the  lithe,  warm  figure  of  his  client  high  above  the 
water.  As  he  set  her  down  upon  the  opposite  bank 
she  gave  a  pretty  sigh  of  satisfaction,  and  naively 
told  him  that  he  was  very  strong  for  a  man  in  the 
last  stages  of  starvation. 

Two  or  three  noisy  dogs  gave  them  the  first  wel- 
come, and  Crosby  sagely  looked  aloft  for  refuge. 
His  companion  quieted  the  dogs,  however,  and  the 
advance  on  the  squat  farmhouse  was  made  without 
resistance.  The  visitors  were  not  long  in  acquaint- 
ing the  good-natured  and  astonished  young  farmer 
with  the  situation.  Mrs.  Higgins  was  called  from  her 
bed  and  in  a  jiffy  was  bustling  about  the  kitchen, 
from  which  soon  floated  odors  so  tantalizing  that 
the  refugees  could  scarcely  suppress  the  desire  to 
rush  forth  and  storm  the  good  cook  in  her  castle. 

"  It's  mighty  lucky  you  got  here  when  you  did, 
Mrs.  Delancy,"  said  Higgins,  peering  from  the  win- 
dow. "  Looks  's  if  it  might  rain  before  long.  We 
ain't  got  much  of  a  place  here,  but,  if  you'll  put  up 
with  it,  I  guess  we  can  take  keer  of  you  over  night." 

"  Oh,  but  we  couldn't  think  of  it,"  she  protested. 
"  After  we  have  had  something  to  eat  we  must  hurry 
off  to  the  station." 

"What  station?"  asked  Crosby  sententiously. 


42  THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG 

"I  don't  know,  but  it  wouldn't  be  a  bit  nice  to 
spoil  the  adventure  by  stopping  now." 

"  But  we  can't  walk  all  over  the  State  of  Illinois," 
he  cried. 

"  For  shame !  You  are  ready  to  give  up  the  in- 
stant something  to  eat  comes  in  sight.  Mr.  Higgins 
may  be  able  to  suggest  something.  What  is  the 
nearest " 

"  I  have  it,"  interrupted  Crosby.  "  The  Wabash 
road  runs  through  this  neighborhood,  doesn't  it? 
Well,  where  is  its  nearest  station?  " 

"  Lonesomeville — about  four  miles  south,"  said 
Higgins. 

"Do  the  night  trains  stop  there?" 

"  I  guess  you  can  flag  'era." 

"  There's  an  east-bound  train  from  St.  Louis  about 
midnight,  I'm  quite  sure." 

While  the  fugitives  were  enjoying  Mrs.  Higgins's 
hastily  but  adorably  prepared  meal,  the  details  of 
the  second  stage  of  the  flight  were  perfected.  Mr. 
Higgins  gladly  consented  to  hitch  up  his  high- 
boarded  farm  wagon  and  drive  them  to  the  station 
on  the  Wabash  line,  and  half  an  hour  later  Hig- 
gins's wagon  clattered  away  in  the  night.  To  all 
appearances  he  was  the  only  passenger.  But  seated 
on  a  soft  pile  of  grain  sacks  in  the  rear  of  the  wagon, 
completely  hidden  from  view  by  the  tall  "  side-beds," 
were  the  refugees.  Mrs.  Delancy  insisted  upon  this 
mode  of  travel  as  a  precaution  against  the  prying 
eyes  of  persistent  marshal's  men.  Hidden  in  the 
wagon-bed  they  might  reasonably  escape  detection, 


THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG  43 

she  argued,  and  Crosby  humored  her  for  more  rea- 
sons than  one.  Higgins  threw  a  huge  grain  tarpaulin 
over  the  wagon-bed,  and  they  were  sure  to  be  dry 
in  case  the  rainstorm  came  as  expected.  It  was 
so  dark  that  neither  could  see  the  face  of  the  other. 
He  had  a  longing  desire  to  take  her  hand  into  his, 
but  there  was  something  in  the  atmosphere  that 
warned  him  against  such  a  delightful  but  unneces- 
sary proceeding.  Naturally,  they  were  sitting  quite 
close  to  each  other;  even  the  severe  jolting  of  the 
springless  wagon  could  not  disturb  the  feeling  of 
happy  contentment. 

"  I  hope  it  won't  storm,"  she  said  nervously,  as 
a  little  shudder  ran  through  her  body.  The  wind 
was  now  blowing  quite  fiercely  and  those  long-distant 
rolls  of  thunder  were  taking  on  the  sinister  sound  of 
near-by  crashes.  "I  don't  mind  thunder  when  I'm 
in  the  house." 

"  And  under  the  bed,  I  suppose,"  he  laughed. 

"  Well,  you  know,  lightning  could  strike  this 
wagon,"  she  persisted.  "  Oh,  goodness,  that  was 
awfully  close ! "  she  cried,  as  a  particularly  loud 
crash  came  to  their  ears. 

The  wagon  came  to  an  abrupt  stop,  and  Crosby 
was  about  to  crawl  forth  to  demand  the  reason 
when  the  sound  of  a  man's  voice  came  through  the 
rushing  wind. 

"What  is  it?"  whispered  Mrs.  Delancy,  clutch- 
ing his  arm. 

"  Sh !  "  he  replied.  «  We're  held  up  by  highway- 
men, I  think ! " 


44  THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG 

"  Oh,  how  lovely !  "  she  whispered  rapturously. 

"  How  far  are  you  goin'?  "  came  the  strange  voice 
from  the  night. 

"Oh,  's  far  ag'in  as  half,"  responded  Higgins 
warily. 

"  That  you,  Scott?  "  demanded  the  other. 

"  Yep." 

"  Say,  Scott,  gimme  a  ride,  will  you?  Goin'  as 
far  as  Lonesomeville?  " 

"What  you  doin'  out  this  time  o'  night?"  de- 
manded Higgins. 

"  Lookin'  for  a  feller  that  tried  to  steal  Mr.  Au- 
stin's horses.  We  thought  we  had  him  cornered  up 
to  the  place,  but  he  got  away  somehow.  But  we'll 
get  him.  Davis  has  got  fifty  men  scouring  the 
country,  I  bet.  I  been  sent  on  to  Lonesomeville  to 
head  him  off  if  he  tries  to  take  a  train.  He's  a  purty 
desperate  character,  they  say,  too,  Scott.  Say, 
gimme  a  lift  as  far  as  you're  agoin',  won't 
you?" 

"  I — I — well,  I  reckon  so,"  floundered  the  helpless 
Higgins. 

"  Really,  this  is  getting  a  bit  serious,"  whispered 
Crosby  to  his  breathless  companion. 

The  deputy  was  now  on  the  seat  with  Higgins,  and 
the  latter,  bewildered  and  dismayed  beyond  expres- 
sion, was  urging  his  horses  into  their  fastest 
trot.  , 

"  How  far  is  it  to  Lonesomeville?  "  asked  the  dep- 
uty. 

"  'Bout  two  mile." 


THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG  46 

"It'll  rain  before  we  get  there,"  said  the  other 
significantly. 

"I'm  not  afeared  of  rain,"  said  Higgins, 

"  What  are  you  goin'  over  there  this  time  o'  night 
for?  "  asked  the  other.  "You  ain't  got  much  of  a 
load." 

"  I'm — I'm  takin'  some  meat  over  to  Mr.  Talbert." 

"Hams?" 

"No;  jest  bacon,"  answered  Scott,  and  his  two 
hearers  in  the  wagon-bed  laughed  silently. 

"  Not  many  people  out  a  night  like  this,"  volun- 
teered the  deputy. 

"  Nope." 

"  That  a  tarpaulin  you  got  in  the  back  of  the  bed? 
Jest  saw  it  by  the  lightnin'." 

"  Got  the  bacon  kivered  to  keep  it  from  gittin' 
wet  'n  case  it  rains,"  hastily  interpose3  Scott.  He 
was  discussing  within  himself  the  advisability  of 
knocking  the  deputy  from  the  seat  and  whipping  the 
team  into  a  gallop,  leaving  him  behind. 

"  You  don't  mind  my  crawlin'  under  the  tarpaulin 
if  it  rains,  do  you,  Scott?  " 

"  There  ain't  no — no  room  under  it,  Harry,  an'  I 
won't  allow  that  bacon  to  git  wet  under  no  considera- 
tion." 

A  generous  though  nerve-racking  crash  of  thunder 
changed  the  current  of  conversation.  It  drifted  from 
the  weather  immediately,  however,  to  a  one-sided  dis- 
cussion of  the  escaped  horse  thief. 

"  I  guess  he's  a  purty  slick  one,"  they  heard  the 
deputy  say.  "  Austin  said  he  had  him  dead  to  rights 


46  THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG 

in  his  barn!  That  big  bulldog  of  his  had  him  treed 
on  a  beam,  but  when  we  got  there,  just  after  dark, 
the  darned  cuss  was  gone,  an'  the  dog  was  trapped 
up  in  a  box-stall.  By  thunder,  it  showed  how  des- 
perate the  feller  is.  He  evidently  come  down  from 
that  beam  an'  jest  naturally  picked  that  turrible 
bulldog  up  by  the  neck  an'  throwed  him  over  into  the 
stall." 

"Have  you  got  a  revolver?"  asked  Higgins 
loudly. 

"  Sure !  You  don't  s'pose  I'd  go  up  against  that 
kind  of  a  man  without  a  gun,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  goodness !  "  some  one  whispered  in  Crosby's 
ear. 

"  But  he  ain't  armed,"  argued  Higgins.  "  If  he'd 
had  a  gun  don't  you  s'pose  he'd  shot  the  dog  an'  got 
away  long  before  he  did?  " 

"  That  shows  how  much  you  know  about  these 
crooks,  Higgins,"  said  the  other  loftily.  "  He  had 
a  mighty  good  reason  for  not  shooting  the  dog." 

"What  was  the  reason?" 

"  I  don't  know  jest  what  it  was,  but  any  darned 
fool  ought  to  see  that  he  had  a  reason.  Else  why 
didn't  he  shoot?  Course  he  had  a  reason.  But  the 
funny  part  of  the  whole  thing  is  what  has  become  of 
the  woman." 

"What  woman?" 

"  That  widder,"  responded  the  other,  and  Crosby 
felt  her  arm  harden.  "  I  never  thought  much  o'  that 
woman.  You'd  think  she  owned  the  whole  town  of 
Dexter  to  see  her  paradin'  around  the  streets,  showin' 


THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG  47 

off  her  city  clothes,  an'  all  such,  stuff.  They  do  say 
she  led  George  Delancy  a  devil  of  a  life,  an'  it's  no 
wonder  he  died." 

"  The  wretch !  "  came  from  the  rear  of  the  wagon. 

"  Well,  she's  up  and  skipped  out  with  the  horse 
thief.  Austin  says  she  tried  to  protect  him,  and  I 
guess  they  had  a  regular  family  row  over  the  affair. 
She's  gone  an'  the  man's  gone,  an'  it  looks  darned 
suspicious.  He  was  a  good-lookin'  feller,  Austin 
says,  an'  she's  dead  crazy  to  git  another  man,  I've 
heard.  Dang  me,  it's  jest  as  I  said  to  Davis:  I 
wouldn't  put  it  above  her  to  take  up  with  this  good- 
lookin'  thief  an'  skip  off  with  him.  Her  husband's 
been  dead  more'n  two  year,  an'  she's  too  darned 
purty  to  stay  in  strict  mournin'  longer'n  she  has 

But  just  then  something  strong,  firm,  and  re- 
sistless grasped  his  neck  from  behind,  and,  even  as 
he  opened  his  mouth  to  gasp  out  his  surprise  and 
alarm,  a  vise-like  grip  shut  down  on  his  thigh,  and 
then,  he  was  jerked  backward,  lifted  upward,  tossed 
outward,  falling  downward.  The  wagon  clattered 
off  in  the  night,  and  a  tall  man  and  a  woman  looked 
over  the  side  of  the  wagon-bed  and  waited  for  the  next 
flash  of  lightning  to  show  them  where  the  official  gos- 
siper  had  fallen.  The  long,  blinding,  flash  came, 
and  Crosby  saw  the  man  as  he  picked  himself  from 
the  ditch  at  the  roadside. 

"  Whip  up,  Higgins,  and  we'll  leave  him  so  far 
behind  he'll  never  catch  us,"  cried  Crosby  eagerly. 
The  first  drops  of  rain  began  to  fall  and  Mrs.  De- 


48  THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG 

lancy  hurriedly  crawled  beneath  the  tarpaulin,  urg- 
ing him  to  follow  at  once.  Another  flash  of  light- 
ning revealed  the  deputy,  far  back  in  the  road  waving 
his  hands  frantically. 

"  I'm  glad  his  neck  isn't  broken.  Hurry  on,  Mr. 
Higgins ;  it  is  now  more  urgent  than  ever  that  you 
save  your  bacon." 

"  'Tain't  very  comfortable  ridin'  for  Mrs.  De- 
lancy,"  apologized  Higgins,  his  horses  in  a  lope. 

"  If  the  marshal  asks  you  why  you  didn't  stop  and 
help  his  deputy,  just  tell  him  that  the  desperado  held 
a  pistol  at  your  head  and  commanded  you  to  drive 
like  the  devil.  Holy  mackerel,  here  comes  the  del- 
uge ! "  An  instant  later  he  was  under  the  tarpaulin, 
crouching  beside  his  fellow  fugitive.  Conversation 
was  impossible,  so  great  was  the  noise  of  the  rain- 
storm and  the  rattle  of  the  wagon  over  the  hard  pike. 
He  did  his  best  to  protect  her  from  the  jars  and 
bumps  incident  to  the  leaping  and  jolting  of  the 
wagon,  and  both  were  filled  with  rejoicing  when  Hig- 
gins shouted  "  Whoa ! "  to  the  horses  and  brought 
the  wild  ride  to  an  end. 

"  Where  are  we?  "  cried  Crosby,  sticking  his  head 
from  beneath  the  tarpaulin. 

"  We're  in  the  dump-shed  of  the  grain  elevator, 
just  across  the  track  from  the  depot." 

"And  the  ride  is  over?" 

"  Yep.     Did  you  get  bumped  much  ?  " 

"  It  was  worse,  a  thousand  times,  than  sitting  on 
the  beam,"  bemoaned  a  sweet,  tired  voice,  and  a 
moment  later  the  two  refugees  stood  erect  in  the 


THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG  49 

wagon,  neither  quite  sure  that  legs  so  tired  and  stiff 
could  serve  as  support. 

"It  was  awful;  wasn't  it?"  Crosby  said,  stretch- 
ing himself  painfully. 

"  Are  you  not  drenched  to  the  skin,  Mr.  Higgins?  " 
cried  Mrs.  Delancy  anxiously.  "  How  selfish  of  us 
not  to  have  thought  of  you  before !  " 

"Oh,  that's  all  right.  This  gum  coat  kept  me 
purty  dry." 

He  and  Crosby  assisted  her  from  the  wagon,  and, 
while  the  former  gave  his  attention  to  the  wet  and 
shivering  horses,  the  latter  took  her  arm  and  walked 
up  and  down  the  dark  shed  with  her. 

"  I  think  you  are  regretting  the  impulse  that  urged 
you  into  this  folly,"  he  was  saying. 

"  If  you  persist  in  accusing  me  of  faint-heartedness, 
Mr.  Crosby,  I'll  never  speak  to  you  again,"  she  said. 
"  I  cast  my  lot  with  a  desperado,  as  the  deputy  in- 
sinuated, and  I  am  sure  you  have  not  heard  me  bewail 
my  fate.  Isn't  it  worth  something  to  have  one  day 
and  night  of  real  adventure?  My  gown  must  be  a 
sight,  and  I  know  my  hair  is  just  dreadful,  but  my 
heart  is  gayer  and  brighter  to-night  than  it  has  been 
in  years." 

"And  you  don't  regret  anything  that  has  hap- 
pened ?  "  he  asked,  pressing  her  arm  ever  so  slightly. 

"  My  only  regret  is  that  you  heard  what  the  dep- 
uty said  about  me.  You  don't  believe  I  am  like 
that,  do  you?  "  There  was  sweet  womanly  concern 
in  her  voice. 

"I  wish  it  were  light  enough  to  see  your  face," 


50  THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG 

he  answered,  his  lips  close  to  her  ear.  "  I  know  you 
are  blushing,  and  you  must  be  more  beautiful — Oh, 
no,  of  course  I  don't  think  you  are  at  all  as  he 
painted  you,"  he  concluded,  suddenly  checking  him- 
self and  answering  the  plaintive  question  he  had  al- 
most ignored. 

"  Thank  you,  kind  sir,"  she  said  lightly,  but  he 
failed  not  to  observe  the  tinge  of  confusion  in  the 
laugh  that  followed. 

"  If  you'll  watch  the  team,  Mr.  Crosby,"  the  voice 
of  Higgins  broke  in  at  this  timely  juncture,  "  I'll  run 
acrost  to  the  depot  an'  ast  about  the  train." 

"  Much  obliged,  old  man  ;  much  obliged,"  returned 
Crosby  affably.  "  Are  you  afraid  to  be  alone  in  the 
dark?  "  he  asked,  as  Higgins  rushed  out  into  the 
rain.  The  storm  had  abated  by  this  time  and  there 
was  but  the  faintest  suggestion  of  distant  thunder 
and  lightning,  the  after-fall  of  rain  being  little  more 
than  a  drizzle. 

"  Awfully,"  she  confessed,  "  but  it's  safer  here 
than  on  the  beam,"  she  added,  and  his  heart  grew 
very  tender  as  he  detected  the  fatigue  in  her  voice. 
"  Anyhow,  we  have  the  papers  safely  signed." 

"  Mrs.  Delancy,  I — I  swear  that  you  shall  never 
regret  this  day  and  night,"  he  said,  stopping  in  his 
walk  and  placing  his  hands  on  her  shoulders.  She 
caught  her  breath  quickly.  "  Do  you  know  what  I 
mean  ?  " 

"  I — I  think — I'm  not  quite  sure,"  she  stammered. 

"  You  will  know  some  day,"  he  said  huskily. 

When  Mr.  Higgins  appeared  at  the  end  of  the 


THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG  51 

shed,  carrying  a  lighted  lantern,  he  saw  a  tall  young 
man  and  a  tall  young  woman  standing  side  by  side, 
awaiting  his  approach  with  the  unconcern  of  persons 
who  have  no  interest  in  common. 

"  Ah,  a  lantern,"  cried  Crosby.  "  Now  we  can 
see  what  we  look  like  and — and  who  we  are." 

Higgins  informed  them  that  an  east-bound  pas- 
senger train  went  through  in  twenty  minutes,  stop- 
ping on  the  side  track  to  allow  west-bound  No.  7  to 
pass.  This  train  also  took  water  near  the  bridge 
which  crossed  the  river  just  west  of  the  depot.  The 
west-bound  train  was  on  time,  the  other  about  five 
minutes  late.  He  brought  the  welcome  news  that  the 
rain  was  over  and  that  a  few  stars  were  peeping 
through  the  western  sky.  There  was  unwelcome 
news,  however,  in  the  statement  that  the  mud  was 
ankle  deep  from  the  elevator  to  the  station  platform 
and  that  the  washing  out  of  a  street  culvert  would 
prevent  him  from  using  the  wagon. 

"  I  don't  mind  the  mud,"  said  Mrs.  Delancy,  very 
bravely  indeed. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Delancy,  I  can  and  will  carry 
you  a  mile  or  more  rather  than  have  one  atom  of 
Lonesomeville  mud  bespatter  those  charming  boots 
of  yours,"  said  Crosby  cheerfully,  and  her  protesta- 
tions were  useless  against  the  argument  of  both  men. 

The  distance  was  not  great  from  the  sheds  to  the 
station  and  was  soon  covered.  Crosby  was  muddy 
to  his  knees,  but  his  fair  passenger  was  as  dry  as 
toast  when  he  lowered  her  to  the  platform. 

"  You  are  every  bit  as  strong  as  the  hero  in  the 


52  THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG 

modern  novel,"  she  said  gaily.  "  After  this,  I'll  be- 
lieve every  word  the  author  says  about  his  stalwart, 
indomitable  hero." 

To  say  that  Higgins  was  glad  to  be  homeward 
bound  would  be  putting  it  too  mildly.  The  sigh  of 
relief  that  came  from  him  as  he  drove  out  of  town  a 
few  minutes  later  was  so  audible  that  he  heard  it 
himself  and  smiled  contentedly.  If  he  expected  to 
meet  the  unlamented  Harry  Brown  on  the  home  trip, 
he  was  to  be  agreebly  disappointed.  Mr.  Brown  was 
not  on  the  roadway.  He  was,  instead,  on  the  depot 
platform  at  Lonesomeville,  and  when  the  west-bound 
express  train  whistled  for  the  station  he  was  stand- 
ing grimly  in  front  of  two  dumfounded  young  people 
who  sat  sleepily  and  unwarily  on  a  baggage  truck. 

The  feeble-eyed  lantern  sat  on  the  platform  near 
Crosby's  swinging  feet,  and  the  picture  that  it  looked 
upon  was  one  suggestive  of  the  cheap,  sensational,  and 
blood-curdling  border  drama.  A  mud-covered  man 
stood  before  the  trapped  fugitives,  a  huge  revolver 
in  his  hand,  the  muzzle  of  which,  even  though  it  wob- 
bled painfully,  was  uncomfortably  close  to  Mr. 
Crosby's  nose. 

"  Throw  up  your  hands ! "  said  Brown,  his 
hoarse  voice  shaking  perceptibly.  Crosby's  hands 
went  up  instantly,  for  he  was  a  man  and  a  diplomat. 

"  Point  it  the  other  way !  "  cried  the  lady,  with  true 
feminine  tact.  "  How  dare  you ! — Oh,  will  it  go  off? 
Please,  please  put  it  away !  We  won't  try  to 
escape ! " 

*'  I'm  takin'  no  chances  on  this  feller,"  said  Brown 


THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG  53 

grimly.  "  It  won't  go  off,  ma'am,  unless  he  makes  a 
move  to  git  away." 

"  What  do  you  want?  "  demanded  Crosby  indig- 
nantly. "  My  money  ?  Take  it,  if  you  like,  but 
don't  be  long  about  it." 

"  I'm  no  robber,  darn  you." 

"Well,  what  in  thunder  do  you  mean  then  by 
holding  me  up  at  the  point  of  a  revolver?  " 

"  I'm  an  officer  of  the  law  an'  I  arrest  you.  That's 
what  I'm  here  for,"  said  Brown. 

"Arrest  me?  "  exclaimed  Crosby  in  great  amaze- 
ment. "  What  have  I  done?  " 

"No  back  talk  now,  young  feller.  You're  the 
man  we're  after,  an'  it  won't  do  you  any  good  to 
chew  the  rag  about  it." 

"  If  you  don't  turn  that  horrid  pistol  away,  I'll 
faint,"  cried  femininity  in  collapse.  Crosby's  arm 
went  about  her  waist  and  she  hid  her  terror-stricken 
eyes  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Keep  that  hand  up !  "  cried  Brown  threateningly. 

"  Don't  be  mean  about  it,  old  man.  Can't  you  see 
that  my  arm  is  not  at  all  dangerous  ?  " 

"  I've  got  to  search  you." 

"  Search  me?  Well,  I  guess  not.  Where  is  your 
authority?" 

"  I'm  a  deputy  marshal  from  Dexter." 

"  Have  you  been  sworn  in,  sir  ?  " 

"  Aw,  that's  all  right  now.  No  more  rag  chewin' 
out  of  you.  That'll  do  you!  Keep  your  hands  up ! >? 

"What  am  I  charged  with?  " 

"  Attempted  horse  stealin',  an'  you  know  it." 


54  THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG 

"Have  you  a  warrant?     What  is  my  name?" 

"  That'll  do  you  now;  that'll  do  you." 

"  See  here,  my  fine  friend,  you've  made  a  sad  mis- 
take. I'm  not  the  man  you  want.  I'm  ready  to  go 
to  jail,  if  you  insist,  but  it  will  cost  you  every  dollar 
you  have  in  the  world.  I'll  make  you  pay  dearly 
for  calling  an  honest  man  a  thief,  sir."  Crosby's 
indignation  was  beautifully  assumed  and  it  took  ef- 
fect. 

"  Mr.  Austin  is  the  man  who  ordered  your  arrest," 
he  explained.  "  I  know  Mrs.  Delancy  here  all  right, 
an'  she  left  Austin's  with  you." 

"What  are  you  talking  about,  man?  She  is  my 
cousin  and  drove  over  here  this  evening  to  see  me  be^ 
tween  trains.  I  think  you'd  better  lower  your  gun, 
my  friend.  This  will  go  mighty  hard  with  you." 

"  But " 

"  He  has  you  confused  with  that  horse  thief  who 
said  his  name  was  Crosby,  Tom,"  said  she,  pinching 
his  arm  delightedly.  "  He  was  the  worst-looking 
brute  I  ever  saw.  I  thought  Mr.  Austin  had  him  so 
secure  with  the  bulldog  as  guardian.  Did  he 
escape?  " 

"  Yes,  an'  you  went  with  him,"  exclaimed  Brown, 
making  a  final  stand.  "  An'  I  know  all  about  how 
you  come  over  here  in  Scott  Higgins's  wagon  too." 

"  The  man  is  crazy !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Delancy. 

"  He  may  have  escaped  from  the  asylum  up  north 
of  here,"  whispered  Crosby,  loud  enough  for  the 
ideputy  to  hear. 

*'  Here  comes  the  train,"  cried  she.    "  Now  we  can 


THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG  55 

ask  the  train  men  to  disarm  him  and  send  him  back 
to  the  asylum.  Isn't  it  awful  that  such  dangerous 
people  can  be  at  large?  " 

Brown  lowered  his  pistol  as  the  engine  thundered 
past.  The  pilot  was  almost  in  the  long  bridge  at  the 
end  of  the  depot  when  the  train  stopped  to  wait  for 
the  east-bound  express  to  pass.  The  instant  that 
Brown's  revolver  arm  was  lowered  and  his  head  turned 
with  uncertainty  to  look  at  the  train,  Crosby's  hand 
went  to  his  coat  pocket,  and  when  the  deputy  turned 
toward  him  again  he  found  himself  looking  into  the 
shiny,  glittering  barrel  of  a  pistol. 

"  Throw  that  gun  away,  my  friend,"  said  Crosby 
in  a  low  tone,  "  or  I'll  blow  your  brains  out." 

"  Great  Scott !  "  gasped  Brown. 

"  Throw  it  away !  " 

"  Don't  kill  him,"  pleaded  Mrs.  Delancy.  Brown's 
knees  were  shaking  like  leaves  and  his  teeth  chattered. 
His  revolver  sailed  through  the  air  and  clattered  on 
the  brick  pavement  beyond  the  end  of  the  platform. 

"  Don't  shoot,"  he  pleaded,  ready  to  drop  to  his 
knees. 

"  I  won't  if  you  are  good  and  kind  and  obliging," 
said  Crosby  sternly.  "  Turn  around — face  the  en- 
gine. That's  right.  Now  listen  to  me.  I've  got  this 
pistol  jammed  squarely  against  your  back,  and  if 
you  make  a  false  move — well,  you  won't  have  time  to 
regret  it.  Answer  my  questions  too.  How  long  is 
that  bridge?" 

«  i_i  do— don't  kno— ow." 

"  It's  rather  long,  isn't  it?  " 


56  THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG 

"  With  the  fill  and  trestle  it's  nearly  half  a  mile." 

"What  is  the  next  stop  west  of  here  for  this 
train?  " 

"  Hopville,  forty  mile  west." 

"  Where  does  the  east-bound  train  stop  next  after 
leaving  here?  " 

"  It  don't  stop  till  it  gits  over  in  Indiana,  thirty 
mile  or  more." 

"  I'm  much  obliged  to  you.  Now  walk  straight 
ahead  until  you  come  to  the  blind  end  of  the  mail 
car." 

At  the  front  end  of  the  mail  car  Crosby  and  his 
prisoner  halted.  .  Every  one  knows  that  the  head 
end  of  the  coach  just  back  of  the  engine  tender  is 
"  blind."  That  is,  there  is  no  door  leading  to  the 
interior,  and  one  must  stand  outside  on  the  narrow 
platform  if,  perchance,  he  is  there  when  the  train 
starts.  As  the  east-bound  train  pulled  in  from  the 
bridge,  coming  to  a  stop  on  the  track  beyond  the 
west-bound  train,  Crosby  commanded  his  erstwhile 
captor  to  climb  aboard  the  blind  end  of  the  mail 
coach. 

"  Geewhillikers,  don't  make  me  do  that,"  groaned 
the  unhappy  Brown. 

"  Get  aboard  and  don't  argue.  You  can  come 
back  to-morrow,  you  know,  and  you're  perfectly  safe 
if  you  stay  awake  and  don't  roll  off.  Hurry  up! 
If  you  try  to  jump  off  before  you  reach  the  bridge 
I'll  shoot." 

A  moment  later  the  train  pulled  into  the  bridge 
and  Crosby  hurried  back  to  his  anxious  companion. 
Brown  was  on  his  way  to  a  station  forty  miles  west, 


THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG  57 

and  he  did  not  dare  risk  jumping  off.  By  the  time 
the  train  reached  the  far  end  of  the  bridge  it  was 
running  forty  miles  an  hour. 

"Where  is  he?  "  she  cried  in  alarm  as  he  rushed 
with  her  across  the  intervening  space  to  the  coveted 
"  east-bound." 

"  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  when  we  get  inside  this 
train,"  he  answered.  "  I  think  Brown  is  where  he 
can't  telegraph  to  head  us  off  any  place  along  the 
line,  and  if  we  once  get  into  Indiana  we  are  com- 
paratively safe.  Up  you  go !  "  and  he  lifted  her  up 
the  car  steps. 

"  Safe,"  she  sighed,  as  they  dropped  into  a  seat 
in  a  coach. 

"  I'm  ashamed  to  mention  it,  my  dear  accomplice, 
but  are  you  quite  sure  you  have  your  purse  with  you? 
With  the  usual  luck  of  a  common  thief,  I  am  penni- 
less." 

"  Penniless  because  you  gave  your  fortune  to  the 
cause  of  freedom,"  she  supplemented,  fumbling  in  her 
chatelaine  bag  for  her  purse.  "  Here  it  is.  The  con- 
tents are  yours  until  the  end  of  our  romance." 

The  conductor  took  fare  from  him  to  Lafayette 
and  informed  the  mud-covered  gentleman  that  he 
could  get  a  train  from  that  city  to  Chicago  at  2 : 30 
in  the  morning. 

"  We're  all  right  now,"  said  Crosby  after  the  con- 
ductor had  passed  on.  "  You  are  tired,  little  woman. 
Lie  back  and  go  to  sleep.  The  rough  part  of  the  ad- 
venture is  almost  over."  He  secured  a  pillow  for  her, 


68  THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG 

and  she  was  soon  resting  as  comfortably  as  it  was 
possible  in  the  day  coach  of  a  passenger  train. 

For  many  minutes  he  sat  beside  her,  his  eyes  rest- 
ing on  the  beautiful  tired  face  with  its  closed  eyes, 
long  lashes,  pensive  mouth,  and  its  frame  of  dark 
hair,  disarranged  and  wild. 

"  It's  strange,"  he  thought,  almost  aloud,  "  how 
suddenly  it  comes  to  a  fellow.  Twelve  hours  ago  I 
was  as  free  as  a  bird  in  the  air,  and  now " 

Just  then  her  eyes  opened  widely  with  a  start,  as 
if  she  had  suddenly  come  from  a  rather  terrifying 
dream.  They  looked  squarely  into  his,  and  he  felt  so 
abashed  that  he  was  about  to  turn  away  when,  with  a 
little  catch  in  her  voice,  she  exclaimed: 

"  Good  heavens !  " 

"What  is  it?  "he  cried. 

"  You  are  not  married,  are  you?  " 

"NO!!!" 

Like  a  culprit  caught  she  blushed  furiously,  and 
her  eyes  wavered  as  the  lids  fell,  shutting  from  his 
eager,  surprised  gaze  the  prettiest  confusion  in  the 
world. 

"  I — It  just  occurred  to  me  to  ask,"  she  murmured. 

Crosby's  exhilaration  was  so  great  that,  after  a 
long,  hungry  look  at  the  peaceful  face,  he  jumped 
up  and  went  out  into  the  vestibule,  where  he  whistled 
with  all  the  ardor  of  a  school-boy.  When  he  re- 
turned to  his  seat  beside  her  she  was  awake,  and  the 
little  look  of  distress  left  her  face  when  he  appeared, 
a  happy  smile  succeeding. 

"  I  thought  you  had  deserted  me,"  she  said. 


THE  DAY  OF  THE  DOG  59 

"  Perish  the  thought." 

"  Mr.  Crosby,  if  you  had  a  pistol  all  the  time  we 
were  in  the  barn,  why  did  you  not  shoot  the  dog  and 
free  us  hours  before  you  did?  "  she  asked  sternly. 

"  I  had  no  pistol,"  he  grinned.  From  his  pocket 
he  drew  a  nickel-plated  menthol  inhaler  and  calmly 
leveled  it  at  her  head.  "  It  looked  very  much  like  a 
pistol  in  the  darkness,"  he  said,  "  and  it  deserves  a 
place  among  the  cherished  relics  descending  from 
our  romance." 

The  next  night  two  happy,  contented  persons  sat 
in  a  brilliant  Chicago  theatre,  and  there  was  nothing 
in  their  appearance  to  indicate  that  the  day  and 
night  before  had  been  the  most  strenuous  in  their 
lives. 

"  This  is  more  comfortable  than  a  cross  beam  in  a 
barn,"  she  smiled. 

"  But  it  is  more  public,"  he  responded. 

Three  months  later — but  Crosby  won  both  suits. 


THE  FLYERS 


THE  FLYERS 


CHAPTER  I 

THE   FARAWAY   CLUB 

A  cold,  thick  drizzle,  blown  by  a  biting  wind  that 
sent  chills  to  the  marrow,  marred  the  early  spring 
night,  and  kept  indoors  the  few  hardy  members  who 
had  haunted  the  clubhouse  since  the  season's  opening 
a  week  before.  Not  more  than  a  dozen  loyal  devotees 
to  the  sports  of  the  open  air  lounged  about  the  big 
clubhouse.  Three  or  four  rangy  young  women  in 
sweaters  and  jackets  strove  bravely  to  dispel  the 
gloom  of  the  night  as  it  settled  down  upon  the  growl- 
ing masculine  majority.  The  club  steward  hovered 
near,  anxiously  directing  the  movements  of  a  silent 
and  as  yet  undrilled  corps  of  servants  who  flitted 
from  group  to  group  with  decanters  and  checks,  tak- 
ing and  mistaking  orders  with  the  usual  abandon.  A 
huge  fireplace  threw  out  heat  sufficient  to  make  the 
big  lounging  room  comfortable.  Now  and  then  a 
spiteful  gust  of  wind  swept  the  rain  against  the 
western  window-panes  with  a  menace  that  set  the 
teeth  on  edge. 

61 


62  THE  FLYERS 

"  Rotten  night,"  reflected  the  big  man  who 
monopolised  the  roomiest  chair  and  the  best  position 
in  front  of  the  blazing  logs.  "  Going  to  town  to- 
night ?  "  The  question  was  general :  there  were  half 
a  dozen  answers.  Every  one  was  going  in  by  the  last 
express.  All  of  them  had  dined  well:  they  had  been 
hungry  and  the  club  was  a  wealthy  one;  even  the 
most  exclusive  of  appetites  could  be  entertained  at 
the  Faraway  Country  Club.  The  last  'bus  was  to 
leave  the  clubhouse  at  ten  minutes  past  ten,  and  it 
was  then  half-past  eight.  Ten  minutes'  drive  from 
the  clubhouse  on  the  edge  of  the  little  town  to  the 
railway  station — then  thirty  minutes  to  the  heart 
of  the  big  city  in  which  the  members  lived  and  died  at 
great  risk  to  themselves. 

Each  succeeding  spring  saw  the  formal  opening  of 
the  Faraway  Country  Club.  The  boards  were  pulled 
down  from  the  windows  and  the  door  hinges  were  oiled 
properly  after  a  winter  of  discontent.  May  saw  the 
reopening,  but  it  was  not  until  June  that  crowds 
began  to  fill  the  house  and  grounds.  Only  the  more 
restless  and  hardy  had  the  temerity  to  test  the 
pleasures  of  the  raw  spring  days  and  nights.  The 
M.  F.  H.  was  a  loyal,  eager  chap;  he  knew  what 
was  required  of  him  in  his  official  capacity.  With  the 
first  symptoms  of  softening  soil  he  led  his  followers 
through  field  and  wood,  promising  the  "  real  hunt " 
inside  of  a  month.  Following  a  pack  of  overfed 
hounds  was  what  every  one  at  Faraway  Club  called 
a  "  real  hunt." 

The  night  so  meagrely  described  at  the  beginning 


THE  FLYERS  63 

of  this  tale  followed  hard  upon  a  grey,  chill  day. 
A  few  golfers  had  spent  the  afternoon  upon  the 
course,  inanely  cursing  the  temporary  tees  and 
greens.  A  couple  of  polo  enthusiasts  tried  out  their 
ponies,  and  several  men  and  women  took  their  hunters 
over  the  course,  that  fairly  bristled  with  spectres  of 
last  year's  anise-seed.  Now  they  were  comfortably 
ensconced  in  the  clubhouse,  berating  the  unfortunate 
elements,  and  waiting  for  the  last  express  with  a  per- 
sistency which  allowed  three  or  four  earlier  trains  to 
come  and  go  unnoticed.  The  cheerful  highball  was 
coming  into  its  own.  A  stern  winter  of  bridge  had 
not  killed  the  ardour  of  certain  worshippers;  con- 
tinuous criticism  of  play  arose  from  the  table  in  the 
corner  where  two  men  and  two  women  were  engaged 
with  the  cards. 

The  perennial  bore,  who  noses  into  everything  in 
order  to  sniff  his  own  wit,  sauntered  amiably  from 
group  to  group,  pouring  out  jests  as  murky  as  the 
night  itself.  He  saw  none  of  the  scowls  nor  heard 
the  toe-taps;  he  went  blithely  along  his  bridgeless 
way. 

"  I  say,  Brown,  I  saw  your  wife  on  the  street 
yesterday,  but  she  didn't  see  me,"  he  observed  to  the 
blase-looking  man  in  corduroys. 

"  Ya-as,"  returned  the  other,  calmly  staring  past 
him ;  "  so  she  told  me  last  night."  The  bore  and  his 
blissful  smile  passed  on  to  the  next  group.  There, 
two  or  three  women  were  chatting  with  as  many  men, 
yawning  and  puffing  at  their  cigarettes,  bored  by  the 
risque  stories  the  men  were  telling,  but  smiling  as 


64.  THE  FLYERS 

though  they  had  not  already  heard  them  from  other 
men.  Occasional  remarks,  dropped  softly  into  the 
ears  of  the  women,  may  have  brought  faint  blushes  to 
their  cheeks,  but  the  firelight  was  a  fickle  consort  to 
such  changes.  The  sly  turn  of  a  sentence  gave  many 
a  double  meaning;  the  subtle  glance  of  the  eye  in- 
tended no  harm.  Dobson's  new  toast  to  "  fair 
women  "  earned  a  roar  of  laughter,  but  afterwards 
Dobson  was  called  to  account  by  a  husband  who 
realised.  A  man  over  in  the  corner  was  thumping 
aimlessly  on  the  piano ;  a  golf  fanatic  was  vigorously 
contending  that  he  had  driven  243  yards  against  the 
wind ;  a  tennis  enthusiast  was  lamenting  the  fact  that 
the  courts  were  too  soft  to  be  used ;  there  was  a  cer- 
tain odour  of  rain-soaked  clothes  in  the  huge  room, 
ascendant  even  above  the  smell  of  cigarettes.  Alto- 
gether, it  was  a  night  that  owed  much  to  the  weather. 

Mrs.  Scudaway,  dashing  horsewoman  and  exponent 
of  the  free  rein,  was  repeating  the  latest  story  con- 
cerning an  intimate  friend  of  every  one  present — and, 
consequently,  absent. 

"  She's  just  sailed  for  Europe,  and  that  good- 
looking  actor  friend  of  the  family  happened  to  go  on 
the  same  steamer,"  she  was  saying  with  a  joyous 
smile. 

"  Accidents  will  happen,"  remarked  some  one, 
benevolently. 

"Where's  her  husband?  I  haven't  seen  him  with 
her  in  months,"  came  from  one  of  the  men. 

"  Oh,  they  have  two  children,  you  know,"  explained 
Mrs.  Scudaway. 


THE  FLYERS  65 

"  Delicate,  I  hear,"  said  Miss  Ratliff. 

"  Naturally ;  he  nurses  them,"  said  Mrs.  Scudaway, 
blowing  smoke  half -way  across  the  room  through  her 
delicate  nostrils. 

"  I  say,  Mrs.  Scudaway,"  cried  the  rapt  bore, 
"  don't  you  ever  do  anything  but  inhale  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  exhale  occasionally.  No,  thanks,"  as  he 
held  forth  an  ash  tray.  Then  she  flecked  the  ashes 
into  the  fireplace,  ten  feet  away. 

"  Good  Lord,  it's  a  rotten  night ! "  repeated  the 
big  man,  returning  dismally  from  a  visit  to  the 
window.  "  There's  a  beastly  fog  mixed  in  with  the 
rain." 

"  Better  blow  the  fog  horn  for  Henderson,"  said 
Ratliff,  with  a  jerk  of  his  thumb.  "  He's  half  seas 
over  already  and  shipping  a  lot  of  water."  Hender- 
son, the  convivial  member,  was  on  his  third  siphon. 

"  I  don't  care  a  whoop  what  McAlpine  says," 
roared  an  irascible  gentleman  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  fireplace ;  "  a  man  ought  to  use  a  midiron 
when  he  gets  that  kind  of  a  lie.  Nobody  but  an  ass 
would  take  a  brassie.  He's — " 

"  Just  listen  to  that  blethering  idiot,"  said  young 
Rolfe  to  the  lady  beside  him.  "He  ought  to  be 
choked." 

"  I  like  the  way  you  speak  of  my  husband,"  she 
responded  gaily. 

"  Oh,  I  forgot.  He  is  your  husband,  isn't  he?  " 
Then,  after  a  moment's  easy  contemplation  of  the 
pretty  young  woman  and  a  scornful  glance  at  the 
golfer :  "  Lucky,  but  a  very  poor  watchdog." 


66  THE  FLYERS 

"  He  barks  beautifully,"  resented  the  young  wife, 
with  a  loyal  grimace. 

"  That's  why  you're  not  afraid  of  him,"  he  said 
quickly. 

"  Don't  you  think  he'd  bite?  " 

"  They  never  do." 

"  Well,  you  just  try  him,  that's  all,"  remarked  the 
young  wife  coldly,  rising  and  moving  away,  a  touch 
of  red  in  her  cheeks. 

"I  will,"  he  sang  out  genially,  as  he  crossed  his 
legs  and  stretched  his  feet  out  to  the  fire.  She  looked 
back  with  a  mirthless  smile  on  her  lips. 

The  man  at  the  piano  struck  up  the  insidious  "  La 
Mattchiche,"  suggestive  of  the  Bal  Tabarin  and  other 
Fourteenth  of  July  devotions. 

"  Don't  play  that,  Barkley,"  complained  the  big 
man,  as  every  one  began  beating  time  to  the  fascinat- 
ing air.  "  I'm  trying  to  forget  Paris." 

"  Can  you  ever  forget  that  night  in  Maxim's — " 
began  Mrs.  Scudaway. 

"I  recall  the  next  day  more  vividly,"  he  inter- 
rupted. 

"  Changing  the  subject,"  inserted  the  amiable  bore, 
his  moon-face  beaming,  "  I  see  that  the  Thursdales 
have  opened  their  place  across  the  ravine.  Isn't  it 
rather  early  for  them  to  leave  town  for  the  sum- 
mer?" 

"  They  come  out  every  year  about  this  time." 

"  Lot  of  people  will  be  opening  their  places  next 
week.  I  saw  Mrs.  Gorgus  today.  She  says  they're 
putting  her  house  in  shape — " 


THE  FLYERS  67 

"  Impossible !  "  cried  Mrs.  Tanner.  "  It  hasn't  any 
shape." 

"  The  only  thing  that  could  put  the  Gorgus  house 
in  shape  is  an  earthquake.  Who  was  the  architect 
of  that  abortion  ?  "  demanded  Rolfe. 

"  Denison.     He's  an  impressionist." 

"  The  Thursdales  have  a  new  French  car.  Have 
you  seen  it?  Eleanor  ran  over  here  in  it  this  after- 
noon with  her  Englishman.  Showing  off  both  of  her 
novelties  at  once,  d'ye  see?  "  said  Carter,  the  tennis 
player. 

"  I  understand  the  thing's  a  go — sure  go,"  said 
the  big  man.  "  In  the  fall  some  time.  He's  a  rather 
decent  chap,  too." 

"  And,  what's  better,  if  his  brother  and  his  cousin 
should  happen  to  die,  he'll  be  a  duke." 

"  If  they're  as  healthy  as  he  seems  to  be,  there'll  be 
nothing  doing  for  him." 

A  good-looking  young  fellow,  who  had  been  staring 
at  the  fire  all  evening,  moved  uneasily  in  his  lounging 
chair.  Several  quick  glances  were  sent  to  where  he 
sat  moodily  apart  from  the  others,  and  then  sur- 
reptitious winks  and  nudges  were  exchanged. 

"Joe  is  as  crazy  in  love  with  her  as  ever,  poor 
devil,"  whispered  Rolfe.  Gradually  the  group  of 
gossips  came  closer  together  over  the  table  top;  the 
conversation  was  continued  in  more  subdued  tones. 

"  They're  discussing  me,  damn  'em,"  said  the 
moody  young  man  to  himself.  "  I  suppose  they're 
pitying  me.  Damn  cats !  But  I'll  show  'em  a  thing 
or  two  they're  not  looking  for  before  long."  He 


68  THE  FLYERS 

looked  at  his  watch  for  the  twentieth  time  in  an  hour 
and  scowled  at  the  drenched  window-panes  across 
the  way.  For  some  reason  this  exceedingly  nice-look- 
ing young  man  was  in  a  state  of  extreme  nervousness, 
a  condition  which,  luckily  for  him,  he  was  able  to  keep 
within  himself. 

And  this  was  what  Mrs.  Scudaway  was  saying  in 
an  urgent  undertone  to  the  half  dozen  who  leaned 
across  the  big  table:  "  Joe  is  a  mighty  good  sort,  and 
I'm  sorry  for  him.  He's  been  good  enough  for 
Eleanor  Thursdale  ever  since  she  came  out  two  years 
ago,  and  I  don't  see  why  he  should  cease  being  good 
enough  for  her  now.  This  Englishman  hasn't  any 
more  money  and  he  isn't  half  as  good  looking.  He's 
English,  that's  all.  Her  mother's  crazy  to  have  a 
look  in  at  some  of  those  London  functions  she's  read 
so  much  about.  She's  an  awful  ass,  don't  you  think, 
Tommy?" 

"  Ya-as,"  said  the  blast  man;  "  such  as  she  is." 

"  Mighty  hard  lines,  this  thing  of  being  an  ordinary 
American,"  lamented  the  placid  bore. 

"One  might  just  as  well  be  called  Abraham  or 
Isaac,"  reflected  Carter. 

"  No  romantic  young  lover  would  live  through  the 
first  chapter  with  either  of  those  names,"  said  pretty 
Miss  Ratliff ,  who  read  every  novel  that  came  out. 

"  Dauntless  has  been  terribly  out  of  humour  for 
the  past  week  or  two,"  said  Carter.  "  He's  horribly 
cut  up  over  the  affair, — grouchy  as  blazes,  and  flocks 
by  himself  all  the  time.  That's  not  like  him,  either." 

"  He's  the  sweetest  boy  I  know,"  commented  little 


THE  FLYERS  69 

Mrs.  Tanner,  whose  husband  had  barked  about  the 
midiron. 

"  I've  heard  he's  the  only  man  you  ever  really 
loved,"  murmured  Rolfe,  close  to  her  ear. 

"  Nonsense !  I've  known  him  all  my  life,"  she  re- 
plied, with  quick  and  suspicious  resentment. 

"  Trite  phrase,"  scoffed  he.  "  I'll  wager  my  head 
that  every  woman  living  has  uttered  that  same  worn 
expression  a  hundred  times.  '  Known  him  all  my 
life ! '  Ha,  ha !  It's  a  stock  apology,  my  dear. 
Women,  good  and  bad,  trade  under  that  flag.  Please, 
to  oblige  me,  get  a  fresh  excuse." 

"  The  most  ignorant  duffer  in  the  world  could  lay 
you  a  stymie  if — "  the  loud-voiced  golfer  was  com- 
plaining just  at  that  instant.  The  man  he  was 
addressing  was  nodding  his  head  politely  and  at  the 
same  time  trying  to  hear  what  was  being  said  at  the 
round  table. 

"Joe  Dauntless  is  good  enough  for  anybody's 
(daughter,"  vouchsafed  the  blase  man  in  corduroys. 

"  He's  a  ripping  good  fellow,"  again  said  Mrs. 
Scudaway. 

"  Mrs.  Thursdale's  got  an  English  governess  for 
her  kids,  an  English  butler,  an  English  bull  terrier, 
and  a  new  Cobden-Sanderson  binding  on  that  antique 
History  of  England  she  talks  so  much  about,"  ob- 
served Carter. 

"  And  she's  beginning  to  wear  her  evening  gowns 
on  the  street  in  the  morning.  Besides,  her  shoes  lob 
over  at  the  heels,"  remarked  the  rangy  Mrs.  Carter. 

"  Yes,  she's  getting  to  be  thoroughly  English.    I've 


70  THE  FLYERS 

noticed  a  tendency  to  chirp  like  a  bird  when  she  talks, 
too." 

"  That  governess  is  a  mighty  stunning  girl,  by  the 
way,"  said  Rolfe. 

"  She's  been  over  here  a  year,  you  know,"  said  Mrs. 
Scudaway,  with  no  apparent  relevancy. 

"  Have  you  heard  when  Eleanor's  engagement  is  to 
be  announced?  "  asked  Miss  Ratliff. 

"I'm  not  supposed  to  tell,  but  I  have  it  on  the 
best  authority  that  it  will  be  announced  next  week, 
and  the  wedding  will  take  place  in  November.  I  sup- 
pose they'll  ask  Joe  Dauntless  to  be  an  usher,"  said 
Mrs.  Carter. 

"  Hello !  Joe's  gone  outside.  He  must  have  heard 
something  we  said,"  said  Rolfe,  setting  his  highball 
glass  down  with  a  thump. 

"  Oh,  if  he  had  only  been  educated  at  Cambridge 
instead  of  in  Cambridge,"  mourned  Mrs.  Carter. 

It  was  true  that  the  tall,  good-looking  Mr.  Daunt- 
less had  left  the  room,  but  not  because  he  had  heard 
the  comments  of  his  friends.  He  was  standing  on  the 
windswept  verandah,  peering  through  the  mist  to- 
ward a  distant  splash  of  light  across  the  ravine  to 
the  right  of  the  club  grounds.  The  fog  and  mist 
combined  to  run  the  many  lights  of  the  Thursdale 
windows  into  a  single  smear  of  colour  a  few  shades 
brighter  than  the  darkness  from  which  it  protruded. 
Dauntless's  heart  was  inside  that  vague,  impres- 
sionistic circle  of  colour,  but  his  brain  was  very  much 
in  evidence  on  the  distant  outside.  What  were  the 
workings  of  that  eager  brain  will  soon  be  revealed — 


THE  FLYERS  71 

to  the  reader,  at  least,  if  not  to  the  occupants  of  the 
rain-bound  clubhouse. 

A  word  concerning  Dauntless.  He  was  the  good- 
looking  son  of  old  banker  Dauntless,  who  died  im- 
mediately after  his  cashier  brought  ruin  to  the  con- 
cern of  which  he  was  president.  This  blow  fell  when 
his  son  was  in  his  senior  year  at  Harvard.  He 
took  his  degree,  and  then,  instead  of  the  promised 
trip  around  the  world,  he  came  home  and  went  to 
work  in  the  offices  of  a  big  brokerage  firm.  Every- 
body knew  and  liked  him.  He  was  a  steady,  earnest 
worker,  and  likewise  a  sportsman  of  the  right  tem- 
perament. Big,  fashionable  Faraway  looked  upon 
him  as  its  most  gallant  member;  no  one  cared  to  re- 
member that  he  might  have  been  very  rich ;  every  one 
loved  him  because  he  had  been  rich  and  was  worthy 
in  spite  of  that.  It  was  common  knowledge  that  he 
was  desperately  in  love  with  pretty  Eleanor  Thurs- 
dale,  daughter  of  the  eminently  fashionable  and 
snobbishly  aristocratic  widow  Thursdale,  mistress  of 
many  millions  and  leader  of  select  hundreds.  More- 
over, it  was  now  pretty  well  known  that  Mrs.  Thurs- 
dale had  utterly  lost  sight  of  Dauntless  in  surveying 
the  field  of  desirable  husbands  for  Eleanor.  She 
could  see  nothing  but  Englishmen,  behind  whom  lurked 
the  historic  London  drawing-rooms  and  British 
estates.  That  is  how  and  why  young  Windomshire, 
a  most  delightful  Londoner,  with  prospects  and  a 
peerage  behind  him,  came  to  be  a  guest  in  her  city 
house,  following  close  upon  a  long  sojourn  in  the 
Bermudas.  He  had  been  chosen ;  the  battle  was  over, 


72  THE  FLYERS 

so  far  as  Eleanor's  hand  was  concerned.  What  mat- 
ter if  Dauntless  had  her  heart? 

The  object  of  this  indifference  and  scorn  gazed 
long  and  hard  at  the  blob  of  light  across  the  ravine. 
His  heart  was  beating  fast,  and  his  body  tingled  with 
a  strange  excitement,  which  made  itself  manifest  in  a 
mixture  of  impatient  frowns  and  prophetic  smiles. 

"  If  it  wasn't  such  a  beastly  night,"  he  was  mutter- 
ing in  one  breath,  and,  "  Still,  it's  just  the  sort  of  a 
night  we  want,"  in  the  next.  He  was  looking  at  his 
watch  in  the  light  from  the  window  when  an  automo- 
bile whizzed  up  the  wet  gravel  drive  and  came  to  a 
stop  in  front  of  the  club  steps.  As  Dauntless  re- 
entered  the  house  from  the  verandah,  a  tall  young 
man  in  a  motor  coat  and  goggles  came  in  through 
the  opposite  door.  They  paused  and  looked  steadily 
at  each  other,  then  nodded  briefly.  The  crowd  of 
loungers  glanced  at  the  two  men  with  instant  curiosity 
and  then  breathed  easily.  The  man  who  was  going  to 
marry  Miss  Thursdale  and  the  man  who  wanted  to 
marry  her  were  advancing  to  shake  hands — a  trifle 
awkwardly,  perhaps,  but  more  or  less  frankly. 

"  Rough  weather  for  motoring,"  remarked  Daunt- 
less, nervously.  Windomshire  removed  his  cap  and 
goggles. 

"  Beastly.  I  just  ran  over  for  something  to  warm 
the  inside  man.  Won't  you  join  me?  "  His  voice 
was  pleasant  to  the  ear,  his  manner  easy  and  appeal- 
ing. He  was  not  so  good  looking  as  Dauntless,  true, 
but  he  had  the  air  of  a  thoroughbred  in  his  make-up 
— from  head  to  foot. 


THE  FLYERS  73 

*'  Sit  down  here,"  called  Mrs.  Scudaway  readily, 
creating  a  general  shift  of  chairs.  The  two  men 
hesitated  a  moment,  nervousness  apparent  in  both, 
and  then  sat  down  quickly.  The  Englishman  was 
next  Mrs.  Scudaway.  "  What  were  you  doing  out  in 
the  rain?  "  she  asked  after  the  order  for  drinks  had 
been  taken. 

"  Hurrying  to  get  out  of  it,"  he  said  with  evasive 
good  humour,  "  and  thinking  how  much  nicer  your 
fogs  are  than  ours,"  he  added  quickly. 

"  Anybody  come  over  with  you  ?  "  asked  the  bore, 
agreeably. 

"  No,  they're  playing  bridge  over  at  Mrs.  Thurs- 
dale's  and  that  lets  me  out.  Beastly  headache,  too. 
Got  out  for  a  breath  of  air."  The  silence  that  fol- 
lowed this  observation  seemed  to  call  for  further  ex- 
planations. "  Miss  Thursdale  retired  soon  after 
dinner,  wretchedly  under  the  weather.  That  rather 
left  me  adrift,  don't  you  know.  I'm  not  playing 
bridge  this  year." 

"  You're  not?    Why  not,  pray?  " 

"  Chiefly  because  of  last  year.  My  Mercedes  came 
on  from  New  York  yesterday  and  I  got  her  out  for 
a  spin.  Couldn't  resist,  don't  you  know.  She's  work- 
ing beautifully." 

"  There's  one  thing  about  a  Mercedes  that  I  don't 
like — and  you  don't  find  it  in  a  Panhard.  I've  got  a 
Panhard  and — "  Dobson  was  saying  with  all  the 
arrogance  of  a  motor  fiend,  when  Mrs.  Scudaway 
ruthlessly  and  properly  cut  him  off. 

"We    know    all    about    your    Panhard,    Dobby. 


74  THE  FLYERS 

Don't  bother.  Is  Eleanor  really  ill,  Mr.  Windom- 
shire?  " 

"  I  had  it  from  her  own  lips,  Mrs.  Scudaway." 

"Oh,  you  know  what  I  mean.  Is  it  likely  to  be 
serious  ?  " 

"Really,  I  can't  say.  I  offered  to  go  and  fetch 
the  doctor  in  my  car,  but  she  assured  me  she'd  be  all 
right  in  the  morning.  What  say,  Mr.  Dauntless?  " 

"  I  didn't  speak,  Mr.  Windomshire." 

"  I  thought  you  did."  More  than  one  at  the  table 
had  heard  Joe's  involuntary  chuckle. 

"I  say,  Windomshire,  what's  the  name  of  that 
pretty  governess  over  at  Thursdale's?  "  asked  the 
busy  bore.  "  Saw  her  this  morning." 

The  Englishman  looked  down  and  necked  the  ashes 
from  his  cigarette  before  answering. 

"  Miss  Courtenay,"  he  responded. 

"  She's  a  corking  pretty  girl."  Windomshire 
went  through  the  unnecessary  act  of  flecking  ashes 
again,  but  said  nothing  in  reply.  "  Are  there  any 
more  at  home  like  her?  "  with  a  fine  chuckle  in  behalf 
of  his  wit. 

"  She's  of  a  very  good  family,  I  believe,"  said 
Windomshire,  looking  about  helplessly.  Mrs.  Scud- 
away  caught  the  look  in  his  eyes  and  remembered 
that  English  gentlemen  are  not  supposed  to  discuss 
women  outside  of  their  own  set. 

"  It  must  be  time  for  the  'bus,"  she  said.  "  We're 
all  going  in  by  the  10.10,  Mr.  Windomshire." 

"  Can't  I  take  some  of  you  over  to  the  station  in 
my  car?" 


THE  FLYERS  75 

"  The  'bus  is  dryer,  I  think,  thank  you."  She  led 
the  way,  and  the  other  women  followed  her  upstairs. 
"  We'll  be  down  in  time,"  she  called. 

"I'll  take  some  of  you  men  over  in  Hardy's 
machine,"  volunteered  Dauntless.  "  I've  got  it  out 
here  this  week,  while  he's  east." 

"  Ain't  you  going  in,  Joe?  "  demanded  Rolfe. 

"Not  to-night.  I'm  staying  overnight  with  my 
uncle  in  Cobberly  Road." 

"  The  'bus  is  good  enough  for  me.  I  haven't  for- 
gotten how  you  ran  off  the  Peters  Bridge  last  fall," 
said  Carter. 

"  Hang  it,  man,  he  wasn't  thinking  about  bridges 
that  time,"  said  the  cheerful  bore.  "  There  was  a 
girl  with  him.  Elea —  Ahem !  I  say,  old  man,  what 
the  devil  time  is  it?  Time  for  the  confounded  'bus? 
Don't  want  to  miss  the  train."  He  had  caught  the 
scowl  of  warning  from  Carter  and,  for  a  wonder, 
understood. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Windomshire,  irrelevantly, 
"  what  was  the  disturbance  over  in  O'Brien's  Lane 
this  morning?  Anybody  hurt?  I  was  driving  the  car 
up  Andrews'  Hill  when  I  saw  the  excitement. 
Couldn't  make  it  out.  Were  all  of  the  horses  running 
away?" 

"  Running  away ! "  roared  the  blase  man,  for- 
getting his  pose  for  the  first  time.  "Running 
away ! "  and  he  broke  into  a  roar  of  laughter. 
"  Why,  that  was  the  advance  guard  of  the  Faraway 
Country  Club.  Good  Lord,  did  you  see  them  coming 
in?" 


76  THE  FLYERS 

"  My  word,  they  were  coming  in.  But  what  was 
the  rush?  I  came  over  to-night  to  see  if  any  of  the 
women  had  been  hurt.  I  could  have  sworn  the  horses 
were  absolutely  unmanageable.  They  were  tearing 
through  bushes  and  taking  fences  they'd  never  seen 
before.  Egad,  I  give  you  my  word,  one  of  the  women 
took  the  fence  at  the  south  end  of  the  golf  course, 
and  she  didn't  turn  out  for  the  bunker  at  No.  7, 
either.  She  took  it  like  a  bird,  and  straight  across 
the  course  she  flew  on  a  dead  line  for  the  home  green. 
What  the  deuce—" 

"  Sh !  Windomshire,  it  will  cost  you  your  life  if 
she  hears  you.  That  was  Mrs.  Scudaway.  You  don't 
know  what  happened,  so  I'll  tell  you.  Half  a  dozen 
of  the  women  went  out  with  us  for  a  run  over  the 
usual  course.  They  are  among  our  best  and  oldest 
hunters,  too.  Well,  they  were  keeping  right  up  with 
the  men  and  having  a  splendid  hunt,  when  all  of  a  sud- 
den a  real,  live  fox  dashed  into  view.  By  gad,  sir, 
he  started  a  panic.  They'd  never  seen  one  in  their 
lives,  and  they  set  up  a  howl  that  went  clear  to 
heaven.  And  they  started  for  home — well,  you  saw 
'em  on  the  stretch.  It  was  great !  There  never  has 
been  such  riding  in  America.  Mrs.  Hooper  lost  her 
hat  in  the  woods,  and  Mrs.  Graves  lost  part  of  her 
habit  coming  through  that  break  in  the  hedge  over 
there.  That  skinny  Miss  Elperson,  who  never  before 
has  had  nerve  enough  to  jump  her  horse  over  the  lawn 
hose,  cleared  the  wall  that  runs  along  O'Brien's  mill, 
— nobody's  ever  done  it  before, — and  she  came  in 
hanging  to  the  horse's  mane  and  yelling  like  a  wild- 


THE  FLYERS  77 

cat.  Gad,  it  was  two  hours  before  we  got  Jem  quiet 
and  sent  'em  to  town.  They  thought  it  was  a  tiger, 
I  understand,  although  some  of  them  held  out  for  the 
lion  and  the  hyena.  Mrs.  Scudaway  was  game  enough 
to  stay  and  enjoy  the  laugh." 

"  What  became  of  the  fox?  "  demanded  the  Eng- 
lishman, his  eyes  glistening.  At  that  moment  the 
women  came  trooping  down  stairs ;  the  'bus  bell  was 
clanging  sleepily. 

"The  fox?    Oh— er— hanged  if  I  know.    I— er— " 

"  Were  you  riding?  " 

"  Well — er — just  a  practice  run,  you  know,  old 
man.  Er — I  say,  ladies,  the  'bus  waits !  " 

Two  minutes  later  the  'bus  rolled  away  in  the  fog 
and  drizzle,  leaving  Dauntless  and  Windomshire  alone 
on  the  steps. 

"  Good-night,"  said  the  Englishman,  after  an  awk- 
ward silence. 

"  Good-night,"  was  the  response.  Then,  follow- 
ing a  brief  pause,  both  started  toward  their  cars. 
The  next  minute  they  were  chugging  away  in  the 
night  and  the  lights  in  the  clubhouse  began  to  go 
out. 

Two  hours  later  a  stealthy  figure  crept  across  the 
Thursdale  lawn,  lurking  behind  the  rose  beds  and 
lilac  bushes,  finally  worming  its  way  to  a  dripping 
but  secluded  spot  under  the  weather  side  of  the  house. 
It  was  past  twelve  o'clock,  but  there  were  still  lights  in 
the  front  part  of  the  big  summer-house.  Quiet 
reigned  there,  however;  the  noise  of  merry-mak- 
ing came  from  the  servants'  quarters  overlooking  the 


78  THE  FLYERS 

ravine.  A  handful  of  gravel  left  an  impatient  hand 
and  rattled  against  the  second-story  window  above. 
Almost  instantaneously  the  window  was  raised  and  a 
head  came  forth. 

"Joe?  "  came  a  shrill  whisper  from  above. 

"What's  the  matter?  "  whispered  the  man  below. 
"  I've  been  waiting  out  there  for  two  hours — well, 
half  an  hour,  at  least.  Aren't  you  coming,  dear?" 

"  I  can't  get  out,"  came  in  a  whispered  wail.  "  I've 
had  my  hat  "on  for  hours,  but — " 

"  Why  can't  you  get  out?  Good  Lord,  you  just 
must!" 

"  They're  playing  bridge  in  the  front  part  of  the 
house  and  the  servants  are  having  a  reunion  in  the 
back.  Oh,  I've  been  nearly  crazy.  What  are  we  to 
do?  Shall  I  jump?" 

"  Don't !    Is  there  no  way  to  sneak  out?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  of  being  seen.  It  would  give  every- 
thing away  if  any  one  saw  me  in  this  automobile  rig- 
ging at  this  time  of  night — and  in  a  rain  like  this, 
too.  Oh,  dear,  dear,  I  know  I  shall  go  mad !  You 
poor  darling,  aren't  you  wet  to  the  skin?  I  really 
couldn't  help  it.  I  just  couldn't  be  there  at  11.30." 

"  We'll  never  make  that  train — never  in  the  world," 
groaned  Dauntless.  "  It's  ten  miles,  and  the  road's 
horrible  all  the  way.  By  Jove,  Nell,  you  must  get 
out  some  way.  It's  now  or  never.  I've  got  every- 
thing fixed." 

"  Oh,  Joe — listen !  Do  you  think  you  can  get  a 
ladder  out  from  under  the  verandah?  The  painters 
left  them  there  this  morning.  Look  out  for  paint, 


THE  FLYERS  79 

dear.  Don't  make  a  noise — not  a  sound.  Mr.  Win- 
domshire's  room  is  just  over  the  porte  cochere.  For 
Heaven's  sake,  don't  arouse  him." 

"  Drop  your  bag  down  first,  dear, — here !  I'll 
catch  it." 

"  I've  got  to  put  some  things  in  it  first.  It  isn't 
quite  ready,"  she  gasped,  darting  away  from  the 
window. 

"  'Twas  ever  thus,"  he  muttered  in  despair.  Cau- 
tiously he  made  his  way  to  the  end  of  the  verandah. 
A  close  listener  might  have  heard  him  snarl  "  damn  " 
more  than  once  as  he  tugged  away  at  the  painters' 
ladders,  which  had  been  left  there  when  the  rain  be- 
gan. He  was  a  good-natured  chap,  but  barking  his 
knuckles,  bumping  his  head,  and  banging  his  shins, 
added  to  the  misfortunes  that  had  gone  before,  were 
enough  to  demoralise  a  saint.  He  imagined  that  he 
was  making  enough  noise  to  rouse  the  neighbours  for 
blocks  around.  No  time  was  to  be  lost  in  self-com- 
miseration, however.  He  hurriedly  dragged  out  a 
ladder,  which  he  managed  to  place  against  the  win- 
dow-sill without  accident. 

"  Here  it  is,"  she  whispered  excitedly.  The  next 
instant  a  heavy  object  dropped  at  his  feet  with  a 
crash.  "  Oh !  "  she  exclaimed  with  horror,  "  my  per- 
fume bottles !  " 

"Good  Lord!"  he  gasped. 

"  I  thought  you  were  going  to  catch  it.  Oh,  here's 
the  ladder.  Do  you  think  I'll  fall?  Oh,  oh !  " 

"  Don't  be  afraid.    Climb  out,  dear — and  hurry !  " 

She  was  brave  enough  in  the  crisis.    While  he  held 


80  THE  FLYERS 

the  bottom  of  the  ladder  she  scrambled  through  the 
window  and  hurried  downward.  Before  she  reached 
the  bottom  he  lifted  her  from  the  ladder  in  his  strong 
arms  and  held  her  close  for  a  moment. 

"  Take  the  ladder  down,  dearest,"  she  whispered 
between  kisses.  "I  don't  want  mother  to  know  I 
left  that  way — not  just  yet, — nor  Mr.  Windom- 
shire,  either." 

"  Come  this  way,"  he  whispered,  after  replacing  the 
ladder.  "  I  left  the  car  just  around  the  corner. 
Come  on,  darling,  and  we'll  soon  be  safe.  Don't  make 
a  noise ! " 

"  Goodness,  isn't  it  dark !  What  a  horrid  night ! 
Oh,  what's  that?" 

"  Gad,  I  thought  I  heard  something  over  there  in 
the  croquet  ground.  Sounded  like  some  one  mix- 
ing it  up  with  a  wicket.  Quick !  Out  this  way !  " 
He  had  her  hand  in  his,  and  was  rushing  ruthlessly 
through  flower-beds  toward  the  big  gate,  her  travell- 
ing bag  banging  against  his  knee  with  the  insistence 
of  a  hundredweight. 

Panting  and  gasping  for  breath,  they  finally 
floundered  into  the  roadway,  and  dashed  off  through 
the  muddy  surface  toward  the  unseen  automobile. 

She  was  half  fainting  with  the  panic  of  excitement 
as  he  started  to  lift  her  into  the  tonneau  of  the  car. 
"No,  no!  Please  let  me  sit  with  you  in  the  front 
seat,"  she  implored.  She  had  her  way,  and  a  moment 
later  he  was  up  beside  her,  both  wrapped  in  the  oil- 
cloths, the  drizzle  blowing  in  their  hot  faces. 


THE  FLYERS  81 

"We're  ofT,  thank  God!"  he  whispered  joyously, 
as  the  car  leaped  forward  under  his  hand. 

"  I  wonder — oh,  dear,  how  I  wonder  what  mamma 
will  say,"  she  was  crying  in  his  ear. 

Dauntless  grinned  happily  as  the  car  shot  onward 
through  the  blackness  of  the  night.  Its  lanterns  were 
dark  and  cold,  but  he  knew  the  road. 


CHAPTER  H 

THE  FLYERS  CATCH  THE  FLYEE 

No  one  would  have  recognized  either  of  them  had 
it  been  possible  to  see  them,  so  carefully  were  their 
heads  swathed  in  their  coverings.  She  was  veiled 
and  he  was  goggled,  and  both  of  them  scrooged  down 
in  the  seat  apprehensively.  Hardy's  car,  borrowed 
in  reality  for  the  occasion,  was  performing  nobly.  It 
careened  through  the  muddy  streets  of  the  village 
with  a  sturdiness  that  augured  well  for  the  enterprise. 
Out  into  the  country  road,  scudding  northward,  it 
sped.  Dauntless  increased  the  speed,  not  to  the  limit, 
on  account  of  the  fog  and  uncertainty  of  the  road, 
but  enough  to  add  new  thrills  to  the  girl  who  crouched 
beside  him.  Neither  spoke  until  they  were  far  from 
the  town  line ;  the  strain  was  too  intense. 

"  What  will  everybody  say  ?  "  she  finally  cried  in 
his  ear — the  most  natural  question  in  the  world. 
"  And  the  newspapers?  Oh,  dear !  " 

"You're  not  weakening,  are  you?"  he  cried. 
"Shall  I  turn  back?" 

She  was  silent  for  half  a  mile. 

"  No,"  she  replied  at  last,  "  I  couldn't  climb  up 
that  ladder.  And  besides — "  with  a  gasp  as  the  car 
82 


THE  FLYERS  83 

shot  over  the  railroad  tracks, — "  we  never  could  get 
as  good  a  start  as  this  again." 

"  Bully  for  you !  "  he  shouted. 

"  How  far  is  it  to  Fenlock,  Joe?  "  she  asked,  a 
quaver  in  her  high-pitched  voice. 

"About  seven  miles.  We'll  take  the  short  cut 
through  O'Brien's  Lane  and  strike  Cobberly  Road 
again  at  the  crossroads.  Then  it  will  be  easy  going. 
We'll  catch  the  flyer  all  right,  Nell.  Everything's 
arranged.  You  go  into  Car  5  and  I  in  Car  7 — " 

"  With  a  whole  car  between  us  ?     Heavens  !  " 

"  It's  safest,  dear.  There  might  happen  to  be  some 
one  on  board  who'd  know  us  and  suspect.  Keep  your 
veil  down  until  you  get  into  the  berth.  There's  not 
much  danger  of  any  one  being  up  at  this  time  of  night, 
but  don't  take  any  chances." 

"  Goodness,  isn't  it  thrilling !  And  when  do  we  get 
to  Omegon?  " 

"  Little  after  seven  in  the  morning.  My  cousin 
will  meet  us  in  a  hack  and  drive  us  straight  to  the 
church.  His  wife  will  go  with  us  as  the  extra  witness. 
By  eight  o'clock  we'll  be  married.  Derby  will  be  on 
the  train  with  us.  He's  a  full-fledged  preacher  now, 
and  he'll  marry  us  without  a  whimper." 

"  Oh,"  she  sighed  deliciously,  in  spite  of  the  jarring 
of  the  motor,  "  isn't  it  nice  to  have  old  college  chums 
who  can  be  depended  upon?  " 

"  Poor  old  Windomshire,"  he  laughed  in  the  buoy- 
ancy of  conquest. 

«  I  don't  think  he'll—"    She  stopped. 

"What?" 


84  THE  FLYERS 

"  Care  very  much,"  she  concluded.  He  laughed 
doubtingly. 

Mile  after  mile  the  car  traversed  the  misty  night, 
jolting  over  the  ruts  in  the  lane,  taking  the  hills 
blindly — driven  entirely  by  the  hand  of  Good  Luck. 

Suddenly  the  "  honk,  honk !  "  of  an  invisible  motor 
struck  upon  their  tense  ears,  the  sound  coming  from 
some  point  ahead  in  the  black,  narrow  lane.  Daunt- 
less sat  straight  and  peered  ahead,  sounding  his  horn 
sharply. 

"  I  hope  no  one  is  coming  toward  us,"  he  groaned, 
slowing  up  sharply.  "  We  never  can  pass  in  this  con- 
founded lane.  If  we  get  off  into  the  soft  ground — 
Hello !  Here  he  comes — and  no  lights  either !  Hey ! 
Look  out !  "  He  brought  his  car  to  an  abrupt  stand- 
still. 

"  Where  are  we,  Joe?  "  she  cried. 

"  Near  the  crossroads,  I'm  sure.  Curse  an  idiot 
that  runs  around  without  lights  on  a  night  like  this," 
he  growled,  forgetting  that  his  own  lamps  were 
dark. 

Out  of  the  misty  blackness  loomed  another  car, 
directly  ahead.  It  had  come  to  a  sudden  stop  not  ten 
feet  away.  Both  cars  were  tooting  their  horns  vici- 
ously. 

"Where  are  your  lights?"  roared  Dauntless. 

"  Where  are  yours  ?  "  came  back  angrily  through 
the  fog. 

"  Good  Lord !  "  gasped  Joe,  panic-stricken. 

"  It's  Mr.  Windomshire,"  whispered  Eleanor,  in 
consternation. 


THE  FLYERS  85 

Before  she  realised  what  was  happening  her  com- 
panion lifted  her  bodily  over  the  back  of  the  seat  and 
deposited  her  in  the  bed  of  the  tonneau. 

"  Hide,  dearest,"  he  whispered.  "  Get  under  the 
storm  blankets.  He  must  not  see  you!  I'll — I'll 
bluff  it  out  some  way." 

"  Wha — what  is  he  doing  out  here  in  a  machine  ?  " 
she  was  whispering  wildly.  "  He  is  pursuing  us ! 
He  has  found  out !  " 

In  the  other  car  Windomshire — for  it  was  the  tall 
Englishman — was  hoarsely  whispering  to  some  one 
beside  him : 

"  It's  Dauntless  !  Hang  him !  What's  he  doing 
here?  "  Then  followed  a  hurried  scuffling  and  sub- 
dued whispers.  A  long  silence,  fraught  with  an  im- 
portance which  the  throbbing  of  the  two  engines  was 
powerless  to  disturb,  followed  the  mutual  dis- 
covery. Joe's  brain  worked  the  quicker.  Disguising 
his  voice  as  best  he  could,  he  shouted  through  the 
fog: 

"  We  can't  pass  here." 

"  Is — is  this  Cobberly  Road?  "  cried  Windomshire, 
striving  to  obtain  what  he  considered  the  American 
twang. 

"  No,  it's  not.  It's  O'Brien's  Lane."  Then,  after 
a  long  silence,  "  Can't  you  back  out?  " 

"  It's  rather — I  mean  sorter  risky,  mister.  I  don't 
know  how  far  I'd  have  to  back,  doncherknow — er, 
ahem !  " 

"  The  crossroads  can't  be  more  than  a  hundred 
yards  behind  you.  Where  are  you  going?  " 


86  THE  FLYERS 

"  I'm  going  for — a  doctor,"  called  Windomshire^. 
hastily. 

"  Well,  then,  we  ought  not  to  stand  here  all  night," 
groaned  Joe,  his  ears  open  to  catch  the  sound  of  the 
locomotive's  whistle.  There  was  no  time  to  be  lost. 

"  I'll— I'll  try  to  back  her  out,"  shouted  Windom- 
shire.  Eleanor  whispered  something  shrilly  and  anx- 
iously from  the  tonneau,  and  Joe  called  out  instantly : 

"Who  is  ill?" 

"  Mrs. — Mrs.  Smith,"  replied  the  other,  bravely. 

"  Good !  "  exclaimed  Dauntless,  heartily.  Win- 
domshire  was  not  in  the  least  annoyed  by  the  lack  of 
sympathy.  He  began  to  drive  his  car  backward  by 
jerks  and  jolts,  blindly  trusting  to  luck  in  the  effort 
to  reach  the  road  which  he  had  passed  in  his  haste  a 
few  minutes  before.  Joe  was  shouting  encouragement 
and  pushing  slowly  forward  in  his  own  machine.  The 
noise  of  the  engines  was  deafening. 

"  Hang  it  all,  man,  don't  blow  your  horn  like 
that !  "  roared  Windomshire  at  last,  harassed  and  full 
of  dread.  Joe,  in  his  abstraction,  was  sounding  his 
siren  in  a  most  insulting  manner. 

At  last  Windomshire's  wheels  struck  a  surface  that 
seemed  hard  and  resisting.  He  gave  a  shout  of  joy. 

"  Here  we  are !    It's  macadam !  " 

"  Cobberly  Road,"  cried  Joe.  "  Back  off  to  the 
right  and  let  me  run  in  ahead.  I'm — I'm  in  a  devil  of 
a  hurry." 

"  By  Gad,  sir,  so  am  I.  Hi,  hold  back  there ! 
Look  out  where  you're  going,  confound  you !  " 

"  Now  for  it,"  cried  Joe  to  Eleanor.    "  We've  got 


THE  FLYERS  87 

the  lead ;  I'll  bet  a  bun  he  can't  catch  us."  He  had 
deliberately  driven  across  the  other's  bows,  as  it  were, 
scraping  the  wheel,  and  was  off  over  Cobberly  Road 
like  the  wind.  "  Turn  to  your  right  at  the  next  cross- 
ing," he  shouted  back  to  Windomshire.  Then  to  him- 
self hopefully:  "If  he  does  that,  he'll  miss  Fenlock 
by  three  miles." 

They  had  covered  two  rash,  terrifying  miles  before 
a  word  was  spoken.  Then  he  heard  her  voice  in  his 
ear — an  anxious,  troubled  voice  that  could  scarcely  be 
heard  above  the  rushing  wind. 

"  What  will  we  do  if  the  train  is  late,  dear?  He'll 
be — be  sure  to  catch  us." 

"  She's  never  late.  Besides,  what  if  he  does  catch 
us?  We  don't  have  to  go  back,  do  we?  You're  of 
age.  Brace  up ;  be  a  man !  "  he  called  back  encourag- 
ingly. 

"  There  are  too  many  men  as  it  is,"  she  wailed, 
sinking  back  into  the  tonneau. 

"  Here  we  are ! "  he  shouted,  as  the  car  whizzed 
into  a  murky,  dimly  lighted  street  on  the  edge  of 
Fenlock,  the  county  seat.  "There  are  the  station 
lights  just  ahead." 

"  Is  the  train  in  ?  "  she  cried,  struggling  to  her  feet 
eagerly. 

"  I  think  not."  He  was  slowing  down.  A  moment 
later  the  throbbing  car  came  to  a  stop  beside  the 
railway  station  platform.  The  lights  blinked  fee- 
bly through  the  mist ;  far  off  in  the  night  arose  the 
faint  toot  of  a  locomotive's  whistle. 

"  We're  just  in  time,"  he  cried.     "  She's  coming. 


88  THE  FLYERS 

Quick!"  He  lifted  her  bodily  over  the  side  of  the 
car,  jerked  two  suitcases  from  beneath  the  curtains, 
and  rushed  frantically  to  the  shelter  of  the  platform 
sheds. 

"  I'll  leave  you  here,  dear,"  he  was  saying  rapidly. 
"Wait  a  second;  there  is  your  railroad  ticket  and 
your  drawing-room  ticket,  too.  I'll  wake  Derby 
when  I  get  on  board.  I  have  to  run  the  automobile 
down  to  Henry's  garage  first.  Won't  take  ten  sec- 
onds. Don't  worry.  The  train  won't  be  here  for 
three  or  four  minutes.  Get  on  board  and  go  to  sleep. 
I'll  be  two  cars  ahead." 

"  Oh,  Joe,  won't  I  see  you  again  before  we  start?  " 
she  cried  despairingly. 

"  I'll  be  back  in  a  minute.  It's  only  half  a  block 
to  Henry's.  All  I  have  to  do  is  to  leave  the  car  in 
front  of  his  place.  His  men  will  look  after  it.  It's 
all  understood,  dearest ;  don't  worry.  I'll  be  here  be- 
fore the  train,  never  fear.  Stand  here  in  the  shadow, 
dear."  He  gave  her  what  might  have  been  a  passion- 
ate kiss  had  it  not  been  for  the  intervention  of  veil 
and  goggles.  Then  he  was  off  to  the  motor,  his  heart 
thumping  frantically.  Standing  as  stiff  and  motion- 
less as  a  statue  against  the  damp  brick  wall,  she  heard 
the  automobile  leap  away  and  go  pounding  down  the 
street.  Apparently  she  was  alone  on  the  platform; 
the  ticking  of  telegraph  instruments  came  to  her 
anxious  ears,  however,  and  she  knew  there  were  living 
people  inside  the  long,  low  building.  The  experience 
certainly  was  new  to  this  tall,  carefully  nurtured  girl. 
Never  before  had  she  been  left  alone  at  such  an  hour 


THE  FLYERS  89 

and  place;  it  goes  without  saying  that  the  circum- 
stances were  unique.  Here  she  was,  standing  alone  in 
the  most  wretched  of  nights,  her  heart  throbbing  with 
a  dozen  emotions,  her  eyes  and  ears  labouring  in  a 
new  and  thrilling  enterprise,  her  whole  life  poised  on 
the  social  dividing  line.  She  was  running  away  to 
marry  the  man  she  had  loved  for  years ;  slipping 
away  from  the  knot  that  ambition  was  trying  to 
throw  over  her  rebellious  head.  If  she  had  any 
thought  of  the  past  or  the  future,  however,  it  was  lost 
among  the  fears  and  anxieties  of  the  present.  Her 
soul  was  crying  out  for  the  approach  of  two  objects 
— Joe  Dauntless  and  the  north-bound  flyer. 

Her  sharp  ears  caught  the  sound  which  told  her 
that  the  motor  had  stopped  down  the  street ;  it  was  a 
welcome  sound,  for  it  meant  that  he  was  racing  back 
to  the  station — and  just  in  time,  too ;  the  flyer  was 
pounding  the  rails  less  than  half  a  mile  away. 

Fenlock  was  a  division  point  in  the  railroad.  The 
company's  yards  and  the  train  despatcher's  office 
were  located  there.  A  huge  round-house  stood  off 
to  the  right ;  half  a  dozen  big  headlights  glared  out 
at  the  shivering  Eleanor  like  so  many  spying,  accus- 
ing eyes.  She  knew  that  all  trains  stopped  in  Fen- 
lock.  Joe  had  told  her  that  the  flyer's  pause  was 
the  briefest  of  any  during  the  day  or  night ;  still  she 
wondered  if  it  would  go  thundering  through  and 
spoil  everything. 

Miss  Thursdale,  watching  the  approaching  head- 
light, her  ears  filled  with  the  din  of  the  wheels,  did  not 
see  or  hear  a  second  motor  car  rush  up  to  the  extreme 


90         ,  THE  FLYERS 

south  end  of  the  platform.  She  was  not  thinking  of 
Windomshire  or  his  machine.  That  is  why  she  failed 
to  witness  an  extraordinary  incident. 

As  the  driver  leaped  from  the  car  a  second  man 
disconnected  himself  from  the  shadows,  paused  for  a 
moment  to  take  orders  from  the  new  arrival,  and  then 
jumped  into  the  seat  just  vacated.  Whereupon  the 
one-time  driver  performed  precisely  the  same  feat 
that  Dauntless  had  performed  three  minutes  before 
him.  He  jerked  forth  a  couple  of  bags  and  then  pro- 
ceeded to  lift  from  the  tonneau  of  the  car  a  vague 
but  animate  something,  which,  an  instant  later,  re- 
solved itself  into  the  form  of  a  woman  at  his  side. 

"  I've  settled  with  the  company,  Meaders,"  hur- 
riedly announced  Windomshire  to  the  man  on  the 
seat.  "  The  car  is  in  your  hands  now." 

"  Yes,  sir ;  I  understand.  Your  week  is  up  to- 
night. Hope  it  was  satisfactory,  sir."  The  car 
shot  off  in  the  night,  almost  running  down  a  man 
who  scudded  across  the  street  in  its  path. 

"Just  in  time,  Anne,"  said  Windomshire  to  the 
tall,  hooded  figure  beside  him.  "  Thank  God,  we 
didn't  miss  it." 

"  Hasn't  it  been  good  sport,  Harry  ?  "  cried  the 
young  woman,  with  an  unmistakably  English  inflec- 
tion. "  It's  just  like  a  book." 

"  Only  more  so,"  he  observed.  "  This  has  really 
happened,  you  know.  Things  never  really  happen  in 
books,  don't  you  know.  You've  not  lost  your  tickets, 
dear?  " 

"No;  they  do  that  only  in  books.     Really,  I'm 


THE  FLYERS  91 

trembling  like  a  leaf.  I  can't  realise  that  it  is  all 
taking  place  as  we  planned,  and  that  I  am  to  be  your 
wife  after  all.  Ah,  Harry !  isn't  it  splendid?  " 

"  'Gad,  little  woman,  I  am  the  one  who  hasn't  the 
right  to  realise.  By  Jove,  I  didn't  give  myself  credit 
for  the  cleverness  to  fool  every  one  so  neatly.  Really, 
don't  you  know,  however,  I  feel  a  bit  sorry  for  Miss 
Thursdale.  She's  a  ripping  good  sort,  and  I'm  sorry 
on  that  account." 

Miss  Courtenay — erstwhile  governess — took  hold 
of  the  lapels  of  his  raincoat  and  looked  seriously  up 
into  his  face.  "  Are  you  sure  you'll  never  regret  giv- 
ing her  up  for  me — with  all  her  money?  " 

"  Oh,  I  say,  Anne  dear,  it's  I  who  am  running 
away,  not  you.  I've  always  wanted  you — all  my  life. 
I've  been  something  of  a  cad — " 

"  It  wasn't  your  fault.  Mrs.  Thursdale  was  bound 
to  have  yon.  It's  her  way." 

"  It  hurts  my  pride  to  say  it,  but  hanged  if  I  think 
— er — Eleanor  was  very  strong  for  the  match.  I've 
a  notion  she  was  bullied  into  it." 

"  I'm  quite  sure  of  it." 

"  You're  doing  her  a  good  turn,  my  dear.  You 
see,  I  couldn't  love  her,  and  I'd  probably  have  beaten 
her  and  all  that.  It  wasn't  as  if  I  had  to  marry  her 
for  her  money.  Deuce  take  it,  I've  got  a  few  pounds 
of  my  own." 

"  I'm  only  Anne  Courtenay,  the  governess." 

"  You'll  be  Lady  Windomshire  some  day,  my  word 
for  it — if  the  other  chaps  manage  to  die,  God  bless 


92  THE  FLYERS 

'em.  I  say,  here's  the  train.  Good-night,  dear,  up 
you  go !  I'll  go  up  ahead.  Don't  forget !  The  wed- 
ding's at  noon  to-morrow." 

The  long,  shadowy  train  came  to  a  stop.  He  el- 
bowed the  porter  aside  and  helped  her  up  the  steps. 
Neither  of  them  noticed  the  vague  figure  which  rushed 
across  the  platform  and  into  the  second  car  below. 

"  Where's  the  luggage  car?  "  shouted  Windomshire 
to  the  porter. 

"The  what?" 

**  I  mean  the  baggage  van." 

"  Way  up  front,  sir.  Where  they're  puttin'  on  the 
trunks,  sir." 

Swinging  his  travelling  bag  almost  at  arm's  length, 
the  long  Englishman  raced  forward.  His  own  and 
Miss  Courtenay's  pieces  had  come  over  during  the 
afternoon,  skilfully  smuggled  out  of  the  Thursdale 
house.  Just  as  he  reached  the  baggage  truck  a  pant- 
ing, mud-covered  individual  dashed  up  from  the  op- 
posite direction,  madly  rushing  for  the  train.  They 
tried  to  avoid  a  collision,  but  failed.  A  second  later 
the  two  men  were  staring  into  each  other's  eyes,  open- 
mouthed  and  dismayed. 

"  Hello !  "  gasped  Dauntless,  staggered. 

"  What  the  devil,  sir,  do —  My  word!  It's  Daunt- 
less ! "  sputtered  Windomshire. 

"  Where  is  she?  "  shouted  Joe,  convinced  that  his 
rival  had  captured  his  runaway  fiancee  and  was  now 
confronting  him  for  explanation. 

"  Confound  you,  sir,  it's  none  of  your  business," 


THE  FLYERS  93 

roared  Windomshire,  confident  that  Dauntless  had 
been  sent  by  Mrs.  Thursdale  to  intercept  him  in  his 
flight  with  the  governess.  "  Damn  your  impu- 
dence !  " 

"  Stand  aside,  Windomshire,"  exclaimed  Joe, 
white  with  anger  and  dread.  "  I'm  going  to  find  her. 
What  have  you  done  with  her?  " 

"  You  sha'n't  interfere,  Dauntless,"  cried  Windom- 
shire, squaring  himself.  "  She's  going  to  be  my  wife, 
and—" 

"  I  guess  not!    Get  out  of  my  way,  or — " 

"  She's  on  that  train,  confound  you,  and  I'm  going 
away  with  her  whether  you  like  it  or  not — or  any- 
body else,  for  that  matter,"  said  Windomshire,  refus- 
ing to  budge  an  inch. 

*'  Well,  you'll  have  a  damned  hard  time  getting  rid 
of  me,"  roared  Joe,  trying  to  break  past  his  rival. 
A  baggage-man  leaped  between  them  in  time  to  pre- 
vent blows.  He  held  the  angry,  mistaken  rivals  apart, 
— rivals  no  longer,  if  they  only  knew.  "  Let  go  of 
me!  Hold  this  fellow  and  I'll  give  you  a  hundred 
dollars — hold  him  till  the  train  goes !  " 

"Hold  me,  will  you?  My  word!  What  is  this? 
A  highway  robbery !  " 

Both  men  broke  away  from  the  baggage-man  and 
rushed  frantically  down  the  line  of  cars,  each  trying 
to  hold  the  other  back.  Joe  succeeded  in  grasping  the 
handrail  of  the  first  sleeping-car,  but  his  adversary 
pulled  him  away.  An  instant  later  they  were  strug- 
gling across  the  station  platform,  clasped  in  savage 
and  hysterical  combat.  The  station  employees  were 


94.  THE  FLYERS 

rushing  up  to  separate  them  when  the  train  began 
to  move  slowly  away. 

They  came  to  their  senses  a  moment  later  to  find 
themselves  held  firmly  by  brawny  peacemakers,  the 
black  cars  rushing  swiftly  by  without  them. 

Forgetting  the  battle  so  inopportunely  begun,  they 
started  off  madly  in  pursuit,  shouting,  yelling,  com- 
manding. But  the  flyer  was  deaf  to  their  cries,  cal- 
lous against  their  tears.  It  whistled  off  into  the 
north,  carrying  two  trusting,  nervous  young  women, 
who  were  secure  in  the  belief  that  their  liege  lords 
to  be  were  aboard,  utterly  unconscious  of  the  true 
state  of  affairs.  In  the  drawing-room  of  Car  5 
Eleanor  was  still  sitting,  with  her  veil  down,  her  rain- 
coat saturating  the  couch  on  which  she  sat  stiff  and 
silent.  Anne  Courtenay  in  Car  7  was  philosophically 
preparing  for  bed,  absolutely  confident  that  the  Eng- 
lishman she  had  loved  for  years  was  not  going  to  fail 
her. 

Windomshire,  alas,  came  to  grief  in  his  useless 
pursuit.  He  fell  off  the  end  of  the  platform  and 
rolled  in  the  mud,  half  stunned.  When  he  painfully 
picked  himself  up,  he  saw  Dauntless  sitting  on  the 
edge  of  the  walk,  his  haggard,  staring  face  lighted 
by  the  glare  of  a  sympathetic  lantern.  The  station 
agent  was  offering  vain  but  well-intended  commisera- 
tion. 

"  Good  God !  "  he  heard  Joe  groan,  but  he  did  not 
catch  the  words,  "  she's  gone  without  me !  " 

The  next  instant  the  distracted  eloper  was  on  his 
feet  demanding  a  special  engine. 


THE  FLYERS  95 

"  I've  got  to  have  it !  "  he  shouted. 

Windomshire's  wits  returned.  Why  not  have  a 
special  too?  It  was  the  only  way. 

"  You  can  order  one  for  me,  too,"  he  exclaimed. 
"  At  once.  It's  imperative." 


CHAPTER  HI 

THE    MORNING    AFTER 

The  sun  was  peeping  over  the  hilltops  and  shoot- 
ing his  merry  glance  across  the  rainsoaked  lowlands 
when  Eleanor  Thursdale  awoke  from  her  final  snatch 
of  slumber.  A  hundred  feverish  lapses  into  restless 
subconsciousness  had  marked  the  passage  of  nearly  as 
many  miles  of  clatter  and  turmoil.  Never  before  had 
she  known  a  train  to  be  so  noisy ;  never  before  had  she 
lain  awake  long  enough  to  make  the  natural  discovery. 
It  seemed  hours  before  she  dropped  off  in  the  first 
surrender  to  sleep;  it  seemed  hours  between  the  suc- 
ceeding falls.  Her  brain  and  heart  were  waging  the 
most  relentless  battle  against  peace  and  security. 
She  knew  Joe  Dauntless  was  but  two  cars  ahead,  and 
yet  she  wondered  if  he  were  really  there ;  she  wondered 
and  was  troubled — oh,  so  troubled. 

Daylight  was  creeping  in  beneath  the  curtain  of 
the  window.  She  stretched  her  fine,  tired  young  body, 
and  for  the  first  time  really  felt  like  going  to  sleep. 
The  perversity  of  early  morning!  Gradually  it 
dawned  upon  her  that  the  train  was  not  moving;  as 
far  back  as  she  could  recall  in  her  now  wakeful  spell 
it  occurred  to  her  that  the  cars  had  been  standing 
96 


THE  FLYERS  97 

still  and  that  everything  was  as  quiet  as  death.  She 
looked  at  her  watch ;  it  was  six  o'clock. 

"  Goodness !  "  she  thought,  sitting  up  suddenly, 
"what  is  the  matter?"  The  curtain  flew  up  and 
her  startled  eyes  blinked  out  upon  the  glaring 
world. 

There  was  not  a  house  in  sight  as  far  as  her  eyes 
could  range  forward  and  behind.  Instead,  a  wide 
sweep  of  farm  lands  partially  submerged  by  the  flood 
water  of  many  rains.  Far  away  there  were  brown 
hills  and  a  long  army  of  tall  trees  standing  at  atten- 
tion,— a  bleak  prospect  despite  the  cheery  intentions 
of  the  sun,  which  lurked  behind  the  hills.  Despondent 
cornstalks  of  last  year's  growth  stood  guard  over  the 
soggy  fields ;  drenched,  unhappy  tufts  of  grass,  and 
forlorn  but  triumphant  reeds  arose  here  and  there 
from  the  watery  wastes,  asserting  their  victory  over 
a  dismantled  winter.  It  was  not  a  glorious  view  that 
met  the  gaze  of  the  bride  on  her  wedding  morn. 

Strangest  of  all,  the  train  was  so  quiet,  so  utterly 
inactive,  that  an  absurd  feeling  of  loneliness  grew 
upon  her,  gradually  developing  into  the  alarming  cer- 
tainty that  she  was  the  only  living  person  in  the  world, 
then  she  heard  men's  voices  outside  of  the  window; 
her  relief  was  almost  hysterical.  Scrambling  out  of 
the  berth,  she  began  a  hasty,  nervous  toilet.  Three 
sharp  pushes  on  the  button  brought  the  company's 
ladies'  maid — advertised  as  a  part  of  the  luxury  and 
refinement  which  made  the  flyer  "  the  finest  train  in 
the  world." 

"  What  has  happened?    Where  are  we?  "  she  de- 


98  THE  FLYERS 

manded,  upon  the  entrance  of  the  sleepy  young  col- 
oured woman. 

"  The  Pride  River  bridge  is  washed  away,  ma'am," 
said  the  maid.  "  We  can't  go  on  no  furder." 

"  Dear  me,"  sighed  Eleanor,  turning  to  be  but- 
toned at  the  back.  "  And  where  is  Pride  River  bridge 
— or  where  was  it,  I  mean?  " 

"  'Bout  twenty  mile  south  of  Omegon,  ma'am — 
miss.  The  river's  a  sight — highest  'at  it's  ever  been 
known.  It's  all  over  the  bottoms.  This  here  train 
came  mighty  nigh  running  into  it,  too.  A  boy 
flagged  it  just  in  time,  'bout  five  o'clock." 

"  Have  we  been  standing  here  a  whole  hour  ?  " 

"  Yes,  miss ;  right  here.  They  say  we  can't  go  back 
till  the  section  boss  has  examined  the  track  in  Bax- 
ter's Cut.  Seems  as  though  there's  some  danger  of  a 
washout  back  yander." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  we  are  likely  to  stay  here 
indefinitely?  "  gasped  Eleanor.  "  Ouch !  Be  careful, 
please !  " 

"  Oh,  it  won't  be  long.  The  porter  says  they've 
sent  back  over  the  line  to  telegraft  for  the  section 
men." 

"  Good  Heavens,  is  there  no  station  here?  " 

"  No,  ma'am ;  five  miles  back.  They's  one  jest 
across  the  river,  but  it  might  as  well  be  in  Africa." 

"  Be  quick,  please,  and  then  send  the  conductor  to 
me — and  the  porter  too,"  urged  Eleanor,  in  distress. 

The  porter  was  the  first  to  arrive. 

"  Porter,  will  you  go  to  Car  7  and  see  if  the  oc- 
cupant of  lower  4  is  awake?  I  am  quite  sure  that  is 


THE  FLYERS  99 

right,  but  if  it  should  happen  to  be  wrong,  please  let 
me  know  at  once." 

"  Yes,  miss ;  and  what  shall  I  tell  her?  " 

"Ahem!  It's  a — a  gentleman.  Ask  him  to — to 
come  to  the  rear  end  of  the  train.  That's  all.  Oh, 
conductor,  how  soon  will  we  be  on  the  track  again?  " 
The  conductor  was  standing  in  the  door,  evidently  im- 
pressed by  the  summons  from  the  drawing-room. 

"  We're  not  off  the  track,  madam.  There  is  no 
danger — just  a  little  delay.  I  have  telegraphed  to 
see  if  I  can  have  a  relief  train  come  down  from 
Omegon  and  pick  us  up  after  we've  been  ferried 
across  the  river." 

"  This  is  the  very  worst  road  I've  ever  travelled 
over — the  very  worst,"  was  Eleanor's  natural  com- 
plaint. "  When  will  that  get  us  to  Omegon?  " 

"  We  should  be  there  in  an  hour  after  leaving  here." 

"  And  when  did  you  say  we'd  leave  here?  " 

"  I  didn't  say.     I  don't  know." 

"  Who  does  know,  if  you  don't?  "  demanded  Elea- 
nor. 

"  God,  I  presume,"  observed  the  harassed  conduc- 
tor, turning  away  with  the  realisation  that  he  had 
erred  in  coming  to  her  in  the  first  place.  The  porter 
returned  at  the  moment. 

"  Nobody  in  that  section,  ma'am.  It  was  sold,  but 
the  party  didn't  show  up." 

"  Good  Heavens,  you — but  he  did  show  up.  I — I 
know  he  did.  Look  again.  Try — but  wait !  Ask  for 
Mr.  Dauntless.  Ask  quietly,  please." 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 


100  THE  FLYERS 

Her  nerves  at  highest  tension,  Miss  Thursdale 
made  her  way  toward  the  rear  platform  of  the  train. 
She  passed  down  the  curtained  aisles  of  two  coaches, 
wondering  how  people  could  sleep  so  soundly  in  a 
crisis  like  this.  A  porter  politely  opened  a  door  and 
she  slipped  out  upon  the  last  platform.  As  far  as  the 
eye  could  reach  stretched  the  roadbed  and  its  tele- 
graph poles,  finally  disappearing  in  the  haze  of  the 
morning.  Wide-spread  flood,  soaking  the  flat — 

A  sharp  cry  of  amazement  came  from  the  track 
just  below  her.  She  looked  down  and  into  the  eyes 
of  Anne  Courtenay,  the  governess.  For  a  full  minute 
they  stared  blankly  at  each  other,  apparently  bereft 
of  all  the  agencies  that  fall  to  the  lot  of  woman. 

"  Miss  Courtenay !  "  finally  came  from  the  lips  of 
the  girl  on  the  platform. 

"  Miss  Thursdale!  "  murmured  Anne,  reaching  out 
to  support  herself  against  the  bumper.  Other  words 
failed  to  come  for  the  time  being.  In  sheer  despair, 
neither  could  accomplish  more  than  a  pallid  smile. 
To  the  reader  is  left  the  privilege  of  analysing  the 
thoughts  which  surged  through  the  brains  of  the  be- 
wildered young  women, — the  fears,  the  doubts,  the 
resentments. 

"  Where — where  have  you  been?  "  at  last  fell  from 
Miss  Thursday's  lips. 

"Been?"  repeated  Miss  Courtenay,  vaguely. 
"  Oh,  yes ;  I've  been  taking  a  walk — a  constitutional. 
I  always  do." 

Eleanor  stared  harder  than  ever.  "  All  this  dis- 
tance? "  she  murmured. 


THE  FLYERS  101 

"  Down  the  track  for  half  a  mile,  Miss  Thursdale." 

"Are — were  you  on  this  train?  "  ejaculated  Elea- 
nor. 

"  Yes — but  I — I — "  stammered  Anne,  her  face 
growing  red  with  rising  resentment.  "  I  did  not  think 
this  of  you." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  It  is —  May  I  ask  why 
you  are  here,  Miss  Courtenay?  It  is  most  extra- 
ordinary." 

"  It  is  very  easily  explained,"  said  Miss  Cour- 
tenay, after  a  moment's  battle  with  veracity.  "  My 
aunt  is  very  ill  in  Vancouver."  To  herself  she  was 
saying :  "  I  must  keep  her  from  really  seeing  Harry. 
She  knows  what  he  has  done — in  heaven's  name,  how 
could  she  have  found  it  out? — and  she  is  waiting  to 
catch  us  if  she  can.  She  has  followed  us!  Thank 
goodness,  I've  seen  her  first." 

Eleanor  was  not  blessed  with  the  possibility  of  such 
an  explanation  for  Anne's  presence;  she  could  only 
believe  that  the  governess  had  been  suddenly  called  to 
the  bedside  of  her  aunt — a  real  person,  she  happened 
to  know,  and  very  rich.  But  how  was  she  to  account 
for  her  own  astonishing  departure  from  home?  Miss 
Courtenay  had  seen  her  at  dinner;  nothing  had  been 
said  regarding  "  an  unexpected  journey."  In  truth, 
Eleanor  remembered  with  inflexible  accuracy  that  she 
had  announced  her  intention  to  go  to  bed  with  a  head- 
ache. Then,  what  must  Miss  Courtenay  be  thinking 
at  this  very  instant? 

An  inspiration  came  to  her  like  a  flash.    "  I — I  am 


102  THE  FLYERS 

running  away,  Miss  Courtenay,"  she  cried,  with  a 
brave  attempt  to  appear  naive. 

"  I  don't  understand,"  murmured  poor  Anne. 

"  Of  course  you  don't,"  said  Eleanor,  inspiration 
heaping  itself  up  within  her.  "  Not  really,  you  know, 
but  just  for  a  few  days'  rest.  Mother  thinks  I'm  look- 
ing wretchedly.  We  didn't  say  anything  about  it — 
except  to  Mr.  Windomshire,  of  course.  He  knows. 
Perhaps  he  will  run  up  to  Omegon  in  a  day  or  two  to 
see  me.  It's  very  quiet  there,  and  I'll  get  a  good  rest. 
The  hotel  is  delightful — facing  the  lake.  And  the 
bathing's  good.  Dear  me,  I'm  so  sorry  about  your 
aunt."  Miss  Courtenay's  eyes  actually  blinked  with 
perplexity.  This  was  a  most  staggering  bit  of  news. 
Eleanor  flushed  painfully  under  the  gaze  of  the  other ; 
utter  rout  followed.  She  stammered  some  flimsy  ex- 
cuse and  dashed  back  into  the  car.  To  herself  she  was 
crying :  "  I  must  find  Joe  and  tell  him  to  keep  out 
of  sight.  Oh,  how  awful  this  is !  " 

Just  inside  the  door  she  met  her  porter. 

"  There's  nobody  named  Dauntless  on  the  train, 
miss.  A  gentleman  who  said  he  was  his  friend  thinks 
he  missed  the  train  perhaps." 

"  He — he — oh,  I  see !  "  said  Eleanor,  suddenly  per- 
ceiving method  in  Joe's  reluctance  to  answer  to  his 
own  name.  "  Thank  you.  That's  all."  Then  to  her- 
self :  "  He  has  seen  Miss  Courtenay,  and  she  hasn't 
seen  him, — that's  plain."  She  handed  the  porter  a 
coin. 

"  I  went  to  the  berth  you  mentioned,  ma'am,  and 
I  asked  through  the  curtains :  *  Is  Mr.  Dauntless  in 


THE  FLYERS  103 

here?'  There  was  a  lady  in  the  upper,  miss,  an' — 
an' — well,  I'll  never  forget  what  she  said  to  me." 
Eleanor  had  gone  before  he  concluded,  determined  to 
unearth  her  cautious  lover,  if  possible. 

Anne  caught  the  porter  before  he  could  follow. 

"  See  here,  porter,"  she  whisperd  softly,  "  go  to 
Car  5,  section  6,  and  call  its  occupant.  Tell  him  not 
to  get  up.  Do  you  understand  ?  Not  to  get  up !  " 

It  goes  without  saying,  of  course,  that  all  efforts, 
secret  or  otherwise,  failed  to  locate  the  missing  men. 
The  distracted  brides,  each  trying  to  run  away  from 
the  other  in  a  way,  were  in  a  state  of  collapse, 
necessarily  subdued  but  most  alarming.  The  Rev. 
Henry  Derby,  a  nice-looking  young  fellow,  who  looked 
more  like  a  tennis  player  than  a  minister  of  the  gos- 
pel, eventually  identified  his  old  friend's  ladye  faire, 
and  introduced  himself  with  a  discreetness  that  proved 
him  to  have  been  in  college  at  the  proper  period  and 
in  a  somewhat  different  class  from  that  which  he  now 
sought  to  lead.  In  the  privacy  of  her  drawing-room 
the  bewitching  but  distressed  young  woman  discussed 
the  situation  with  the  man  who  had  been  chosen  to 
perform  the  clandestine  ceremony  in  the  far-away 
town  of  Omegon.  Derby,  coming  on  from  his  eastern 
home  in  loyal  acquiescence  to  his  friend's  request,  had 
designedly  taken  this  train,  it  being  understood  that 
Dauntless  would  board  it  at  Fenlock  with  his  fair 
conspirator.  We  all  know  why  Dauntless  failed  to 
perform  his  part  of  the  agreement ;  Derby,  with  the 
perspicuity  of  a  college  man,  finally  advanced  a  rea- 
son for  his  inexplicable  failure  to  appear.  Eleanor 


104  THE  FLYERS 

had  begun  tearfully  to  accuse  him  of  abandoning 
her  at  the  last  moment;  Mr.  Derby  indignantly 
scouted  the  idea.  When  she  related  their  chase  in  the 
motor  and  their  escape  from  Windomshire,  he  formed 
his  conclusions,  and  they  were  in  the  main  remark- 
ably correct. 

"I'm  afraid,  Miss  Thursdale,  that  your  disap- 
pointed lover,  our  ancient  enemy,  the  Englishman, 
was  not  to  be  overcome  so  neatly.  Has  it  occurred  to 
you  that  he  may  have  reached  Fenlock  before  the 
train  left,  and  that  he  is  the  explanation  for  Joe's 
non-appearance?  " 

"  You — you  don't  mean  that  he  has  killed — "  she 
was  gasping,  growing  whiter  and  whiter.  He  has- 
tened to  reassure  her. 

"  Oh,  no ;  not  so  bad  as  that.  But  is  it  possible 
and  quite  probable  that  he — if,  as  you  say,  he  was 
on  to  your — I  should  say,  aware  of  your  flight,  it 
is  probable  that  he  succeeded  in  detaining  Joe  in  Fen- 
lock.  That  would— " 

"  Impossible !  Joe  wouldn't  let  him !  "  she  cried 
indignantly. 

"  Perhaps  Joe  couldn't  help  himself.  Such  things 
happen.  At  any  rate,  you'll  understand,  the  des- 
pised enemy  could  have — " 

"  Mr.  Windomshire  is  not  a  despised  enemy.  He's 
a  very  nice  man,  Mr.  Derby,"  she  interrupted. 

"Certainly,  Miss  Thursdale.  What  I  meant  to 
say  was,  that  he  was  morally  sure  of  preventing  the 
wedding  if  he  could  only  keep  you  far  enough  apart. 
Now  that  is  probably  what  he  has  done.  You  can't 


THE  FLYERS  105 

marry  Joe  in  Omegon  or  anywhere  else  unless  he  is 
there  and  not  in  Fenlock." 

"  I  see.  Well,  I'll  go  back  to  Fenlock ! "  she  ex- 
claimed emphatically,  a  little  line  of  determination 
and  stubbornness  settling  about  the  erstwhile  trem- 
bling lips. 

"  I  admire  your  loyalty,"  he  said  warmly.  "  Just 
at  present,  however,  we  are  water-bound  here,  and 
we've  got  to  make  the  best  of  it.  I  fancy  Joe  will 
telegraph  before  long." 

«  If— if  he  hasn't  been  hurt.  Oh,  Mr.  Derby,  they 
may  have  fought.  It  would  be  just  like  them.  It 
may  be  dreadfully  serious.  You  don't  know  as  much 
about  men  as  I  do.  They're  terribly — " 

"  Please  don't  worry,  Miss  Thursdale,"  he  said, 
smiling  in  recollection  of  his  football  days.  "  You'll 
find  there's  been  nothing  bloody  about  all  this.  The 
delay  is  vexatious,  but  only  temporary,  I'm  sure." 

"  I'll  marry  Joe  Dauntless  now  if  it  has  to  be  de- 
layed a  hundred  years,"  she  cried,  her  eyes  flashing. 

During  the  next  half-hour  poor  Derby  ran  errands, 
carried  messages  and  complaints  to  every  one  of  the 
train  men,  finally  administering  smelling  salts  when 
it  occurred  to  Eleanor  that  Joe  might  have  fallen  off 
the  train  during  the  night. 

In  the  meantime  Anne  Courtenay  was  having  a 
sad  half-hour  of  it.  She  had  no  one  to  turn  to,  no 
one  to  think  it  all  out  for  her;  she  was  alone  and  in 
great  despair.  The  porter  had  failed  to  find  the  tall 
Englishman ;  the  conductor  had  been  equally  unsuc- 
cessful ;  she  herself  had  searched  in  vain.  His  trunks 


106  THE  FLYERS 

and  hers  were  in  the  baggage  car,  she  found,  but 
there  was  no  sign  of  the  man  himself.  She  was  a  self- 
reliant,  sensible  young  woman,  accustomed  to  the 
rigours  of  the  world,  but  this  was  quite  too  over- 
whelming. The  presence  on  the  train  of  the  girl  that 
she  had,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  cruelly  deceived, 
did  not  add  to  her  comfort.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  she 
was  quite  fond  of  Eleanor;  they  were  warm  friends 
despite  the  vagaries  of  love.  Miss  Courtenay,  among 
other  things,  began  to  wonder,  as  she  sat  in  her  tum- 
bled berth,  if  retribution  had  more  to  do  with  this 
than  chance. 

"  Could  he  have  fallen  off  the  train?  "  she  wondered, 
with  a  sudden  chill  of  apprehension.  The  next  in- 
stant she  was  calling  to  the  porter.  "  Send  the  con- 
ductor to  me  at  once.  My  friend  has  fallen  off  the 
train — out  of  his  window,  perhaps.  I  am  quite  sure 
of  it.  I  want  an  engine  to  go  back  and  look  for  him. 
Hurry,  please !  don't  stand  there  grinning." 

The  Pullman  conductor  came  up  at  that  moment. 

"  Are  you  the  young  lady  who  was  asking  for  Mr. 
Dauntless?  "  he  asked. 

"  Dauntless  ?  "  she  murmured.  "  No,  I'm  asking 
for  an  engine.  Have  you — " 

"  There's  another  young  lady  asking  for  an  engine, 
too,  madam.  It's  impossible." 

"  Am  I  to  understand  that  I  shall  have  to  walk?— 
Oh,"  with  a  sudden  start,  "  is — is  there  a  Mr.  Daunt- 
less missing  too?  " 

"  Seems  so.    He's  gone." 

Anne  dropped  the  curtains  in  his  face,  and  then 


THE  FLYERS  107 

stared  at  them  for  a  long  time.  Gradually  she  began 
to  comprehend.  A  panic  of  fear  came  over  her. 

"  They  have  met  somewhere  and  quarrelled !  Mr. 
Dauntless  was  jealous — terribly  so.  He  may  have — 
good  Heavens ! — he  may  have  killed  him  in  the  mis- 
taken idea  that  Harry  was  running  away  with 
Eleanor.  She's  on  this  train !  It's  perfectly  natural, 
Porter,"  she  called,  "  there  has  been  foul  play ! " 

"  Gee,  miss !  That's  what  the  other  lady  is  say- 
ing!" 

"  The  other — then  it  is  a  double  murder !  Don't 
laugh!  It's— it's— " 

"  Don't  cry,  miss ;  it's  all  right."  She  looked  at 
him  piteously  for  a  moment,  and  then  smiled  at  the 
absurdity  of  her  conjecture. 

A  tousled  head  came  from  between  the  curtains  of 
the  upper  berth  opposite,  and  a  sleepy,  hoarse  voice 
demanded : 

"  How  long  will  we  be  here?    What's  the  latest?  " 

"  We're  on  time,  sah,"  replied  the  porter,  from 
sheer  force  of  habit. 

"  The  devil  we  are !  Say,  I've  got  to  be  in  Omegon 
by  ten  o'clock.  I'll  sue  this  infernal  road,"  snarled 
the  irascible  party,  snapping  the  curtains  together. 
It  transpired  that  he  was  an  agent  for  a  medical 
college,  travelling  to  Omegon  on  a  most  unwholesome 
but  edifying  mission.  He  was  going  up  to  take  pos- 
session of  the  body  of  a  man  who  had  willed  his 
carcass  to  the  school.  As  the  poor  chap  was  not  yet 
dead,  but  hopelessly  ill,  the  desire  for  haste  on  the 
part  of  the  agent  may  be  misunderstood.  It  seems, 


108  THE  FLYERS 

part  of  the  agent  may  be  misunderstood.  It  seems, 
however,  that  there  was  some  talk  of  interference  by 
relatives — and  the  disquieting  prospect  of  a  new  will. 

"  If  I  were  you,  miss,"  counselled  the  porter,  "  I'd 
go  out  and  take  a  little  walk.  The  sun  is  up,  an'  it's 
fine.  The  relief  train  will  be  here  'fore  long — an'  you 
all  will  be  rowed  acrost  the  river.  Don't  worry." 

"  But  I  want  to  go  back  the  way  I  came,"  expostu- 
lated Anne,  feebly.  "  I  can't  go  on  without — until  I 
know  what  has  happened  to — to  Mr.  Windomshire." 
She  took  his  advice,  however,  and  made  her  way  to  the 
rear  platform. 

A  number  of  disgruntled  passengers  were  now 
aboard,  and  complaining  bitterly  of  the  delay.  There 
was  no  hope  of  breakfast  until  the  train  reached 
Omegon,  where  a  dining  car  was  waiting.  She  stood 
on  the  platform  and  looked  gloomily  back  over  the 
long  stretch  of  roadbed. 

"  Isn't  that  an  engine  coming?  "  some  one  asked 
excitedly  at  her  side.  She  turned  and  found  Miss 
Thursdale,  attended  by  a  gentleman,  to  whom  the 
question  was  addressed. 

"  I  believe — yes,  it  is,  Miss  Thursdale." 

"  Then— then  we'll  all  be  taken  back  to  the  city," 
she  said  dejectedly. 

"  I  fancy  not.     It's  probably  bringing  relief." 

"  They — they  may  be  bringing  bad  news,"  Eleanor 
groaned.  "Oh,  Miss  Courtenay,  how  do  you  do — 
again?  How  is  your — your  grandmother,  wasn't 
it?" 

"  I — I — yes,  I  think  so — I  mean,  I  think  she's  no 


THE  FLYERS  109 

better.  They  may  be  bringing  his  body !  "  said  the 
other  girl,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  distant  locomotive. 

"  Oh !  "  almost  screamed  Eleanor,  and  stared  wildly 
without  words. 

A  brakeman  far  down  the  track  was  flagging  the 
locomotive ;  it  came  to  a  stop,  and  several  men  were 
seen  climbing  down  from  the  cab.  Two  of  them  even- 
tually disengaged  themselves  from  the  little  group 
and  hurried  forward.  One  was  carrying  a  suit- 
case, and  both  walked  as  though  they  were  either  in 
pain  or  attended  by  extreme  old  age. 

"  Why— why— "  gasped  Eleanor,  "  it's  Joe !  " 

"  And— yes,  thank  God,  it's  Har— Mr.  Windom- 
shire,"  almost  shrieked  Anne. 

Then  they  turned  and  looked  at  each  other  in  con- 
fusion. Neither  had  the  courage  to  carry  out  the 
desire  to  fly  to  the  arms  of  the  man  she  longed  to  see 
more  than  all  else  in  the  world.  They  felt  themselves 
to  be  caught  red-handed. 


CHAPTER  IV 

MRS.   VAN   TRUDER  INTRUDES 

None  but  the  most  eager,  loving  eyes  could  pos- 
sibly have  recognised  the  newcomers.  It  is  not  un- 
likely that  the  remaining  passengers  mistook  them 
for  tramps.  The  rivals,  morbidly  suspicious  of  each 
other,  taciturn  to  the  point  of  unfriendliness,  had 
indeed  chartered  a  locomotive — not  jointly  by  inten- 
tion, but  because  of  provoking  necessity.  There  was 
but  one  engine  to  be  had.  It  is  safe  to  say  that  while 
they  travelled  many  sore  and  turbulent  miles  in  close 
proximity  to  each  other,  neither  felt  called  upon  to 
offer  or  to  demand  an  explanation. 

Five  hours  in  the  tender  of  an  engine  had  done 
much  to  reduce  them  to  the  level  of  the  men  in  the 
cab,  so  far  as  personal  appearance  was  concerned. 
They  were  still  wearing  their  raincoats,  much 
crumpled  and  discoloured;  their  faces  were  covered 
with  coal  dust ;  they  were  wet,  bedraggled,  and  humble 
to  the  last  degree.  The  American,  naturally,  was 
the  one  who  clung  to  his  suit-case ;  he  had  foreseen  the 
need  for  a  change  of  linen.  They  came  toward  the 
train  with  hesitating,  uncertain  steps.  If  their  souls 
were  gladdened  by  the  sight  of  the  two  young  women, 
general  appearances  failed  to  make  record  of  it.  It 
110 


THE  FLYERS  111 

was  noted  by  those  who  watched  their  approach  that 
once  both  of  them  stopped  short  and  seemed  to 
waver  in  their  determination  to  advance.  That  was 
when  each  became  suddenly  aware  of  the  presence 
of  an  unexpected  girl.  Naturally,  the  Englishman 
was  seriously  staggered.  The  unexplained  Eleanor 
appeared  before  his  very  eyes  as  an  accusing  nemesis ; 
it  is  no  wonder  that  his  jaw  dropped  and  his  befud- 
dled brain  took  to  whirling. 

The  girls,  less  regardful  of  appearances,  climbed 
down  from  the  platform  and  started  forward  to  meet 
their  knights-errant.  The  reader  may  readily  ap- 
preciate the  feelings  of  the  quartette.  Not  one  of 
them  knew  just  precisely  how  much  or  how  little  the 
others  knew;  they  were  precariously  near  to  being 
lost  in  the  labyrinth.  Something  intangible  but 
regular  urged  Windomshire  to  be  politic ;  he  advanced 
to  meet  Eleanor  as  if  it  were  her  due.  Anne  fell 
back,  perplexed  and  hurt. 

"  Hang  it  all,"  thought  Joe,  rage  in  his  heart, 
"  he  beat  me  to  her,  after  all.  He'll  be  enough  of  a 
damned  ass  to  try  to  kiss  her  before  all  these  people, 
too."  Whereupon,  he  closed  his  eyes  tightly.  When 
he  opened  them,  Miss  Courtenay  was  walking  beside 
him  and  asking  questions  about  the  weather.  Her 
cheeks  were  very  pink.  Windomshire  had  awkwardly 
clasped  the  hand  of  Miss  Thursdale,  muttering  some- 
thing not  quite  intelligible,  even  to  himself.  Eleanor 
was  replying  with  equal  blitheness. 

"  How  nice  of  you  to  come.  Where  are  you 
going?  " 


112  THE  FLYERS 

"Surprised,  are  you?"  he  was  floundering. 
"  Charmed.  Ha,  ha !  By  Jove,  Eleanor — er — I 
heard  you  were  booked  by  this  train  and  I — I  tried 
to  catch  it  for  a  bit  of  a  ride  with  you.  I  missed  it, 
don't  you  know.  I'll — I'll  wager  you  don't  know 
what  I  did  in  my  desperation." 

"  I  couldn't  guess,"  she  said,  trying  to  catch 
Joe's  eye. 

"  I  hired  a  private  engine,  'pon  my  word,  and  then 
telegraphed  ahead  to  stop  this  train ! " 

"Di — did  you  do  that?"  she  gasped,  forgetting 
that  the  bridge  was  out. 

Dauntless,  meantime,  was  trying  to  explain  to  Miss 
Courtenay.  She  already  had  told  him  that  her  aunt 
was  ill  in  Vancouver,  and  he  had  smiled  politely 
and  aimlessly. 

"  I'm  on  my  way  to  M .  Sudden  trip,  very 

important,"  he  was  saying.  "  Missed  the  train — I 
dare  say  it  was  this  one — so  I  took  an  engine  to  fol- 
low up.  Had  to  ride  in  the  tender." 

"  It  must  have  been  important,"  she  ventured. 

"  It  was.  I — "  then  with  an  inspired  plunge — 
"  I  was  due  at  a  wedding." 

"  How  unfortunate !  I  hope  you  won't  miss  it 
altogether." 

Joe  caught  his  breath  and  thought:  "Now  what 
the  devil  did  she  mean  by  that  ?  Has  Eleanor  told 
her  the  whole  story?" 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  these  young  persons 
were  lacking  in  the  simpler  gifts  of  intelligence ;  they 
were,  individually,  beginning  to  put  two  and  two  to- 


THE  FLYERS  113 

gether,  as  the  saying  goes.  They  were  grasping  the 
real  situation — groping  for  it,  perhaps,  but  with 
a  clear-sightedness  and  acumen  which  urged  that  a 
cautious  tongue  was  expedient.  If  the  duplicity  was 
really  as  four-handed  as  it  seemed,  there  could  be  no 
harm  in  waiting  for  the  other  fellow  to  blunder  into 
exposure.  Nothing  could  be  explained,  of  course, 
tatil  the  conspirators  found  opportunity  to  consult 
privately  under  the  new  order  of  assignment. 

"  How  romantic ! "  Eleanor  said,  as  she  walked 
stiffly  ahead  with  her  uncomfortable  fiance. 

"  Eh  ?  "  was  his  simple  remark.  He  was  suddenly 
puzzled  over  the  fact  that  he  had  caught  up  to  the 
train.  There  was  something  startling  in  that.  "  Oh 
— er — not  at  all  romantic,  most  prosaic.  Couldn't 
get  a  coach.  Been  here  long?  " 

"  Since  five  o'clock." 

"  I — I  suppose  you  got  up  to  see  the  sunrise." 

"No,  to  see  the  river  rise,"  she  replied.  "The 
bridge  is  gone."  He  was  silent  for  twenty  paces,  try- 
ing to  recall  what  he  had  said  about  telegraphing 
ahead. 

"  You  don't  mean  it !  Then  I  daresay  they  haven't 
got  my  telegram  stopping  the  train." 

"  How  annoying !  " 

Dauntless  had  just  said  to  Anne,  in  a  fit  of  dis- 
gust :  "  Windomshire's  got  a  lot  of  nerve.  That  was 
my  engine,  you  know.  I  hired  it." 

Windomshire  went  on  to  say,  careful  that  Joe  was 
quite  out  of  hearing :  "  Mr.  Dauntless  was  quite  an- 
noying. He  got  into  my  engine  without  an  invita- 


114  THE  FLYERS 

tion,  and  I'm  hanged  if  he'd  take  a  hint,  even  after 
I  hired  a  stoker  to  throw  a  spadeful  of  coal  over  him. 
I  don't  know  why  he  should  be  in  such  a  confounded 
hurry  to  get  to — what's  the  name  of  the  place?  I — 
er — I  really  think  I  must  go  and  speak  to  Miss 
Courtenay,  Eleanor.  She — er — looks  ill." 

"  It's  her  grandmother  who  is  ill — not  she.  But, 
yes !  Please  try  to  cheer  her  up  a  bit,  Harry.  She's 
terribly  upset." 

"  I'm  sure  she  is,"  muttered  he,  dropping  back 
with  more  haste  than  gallantry.  Mr.  Dauntless 
sprang  forward  with  equal  alacrity,  and  wrong  was 
right  a  moment  later. 

"  Joe  dear,"  whispered  Eleanor,  "  I've  been  nearly 
crazy.  What  happened?  "  He  was  vainly  trying  to 
clasp  her  hand. 

"  Nell,  he's  on  to  us.  I  wish  I  knew  just  why  Miss 
Courtenay  is  here.  Lord,  I'll  never  forget  that  ride." 

"  It  was  just  like  you  to  take  advantage  of  his 
engine." 

"  His  engine !  "  exploded  Joe,  wrathfully.  Securely 
separated  from  the  others,  the  elopers  analysed  the 
situation  as  best  they  could.  Two  separate  enter- 
prises struggled  earnestly  for  an  outcome.  On  the 
surface,  the  truth  seemed  plain  enough:  it  was  quite 
clear  to  both  parties  that  the  extraordinary  chain 
of  coincidence  was  not  entirely  due  to  Providence. 
There  was  something  of  design  behind  it  all.  The 
staggering  part  was  the  calamitous  way  in  which 
chance  had  handled  their  dear  and  private  affairs. 

"  He  doesn't  know  that  you  were  in  my  automo- 


THE  FLYERS  115 

bile,"  concluded  Dauntless,  almost  at  the  same  time 
that  a  like  opinion  was  being  expressed  by  Windom- 
shire.  "  Are  you  willing  to  go  on  with  it,  Nell?  Are 
you  scared  out  of  it?  " 

"No,  indeed,"  she  exclaimed,  perplexity  leaving 
her  brow.  "  At  first  I  feared  he  might  have  tele- 
graphed to  mother,  but  now  I  am  sure  he  hasn't. 
He  was  not  following  me  at  all.  He  is  in  love  with 
Anne,  and  he  was  surreptitiously  off  for  a  part  of  the 
distance  with  her.  He  really  doesn't  want  to  marry 
me,  you  know." 

"  Well,  he  isn't  going  to,  you  see.  By  all  that 
is  holy,  nothing  shall  stop  us  now,  dear.  We'll  go  on 
to  Omegon  and  carry  out  everything  just  as  we 
planned.  If  he's  running  off  after  another  girl,  it's 
time  you  put  an  end  to  him.  Don't  give  him  a 
thought." 

"  Don't  you  think  we'd  better  talk  it  over  with 
Mr.  Derby?  He  discreetly  disappeared  when  he 
saw  it  was  you." 

"Right!  Let's  hunt  him  out.  By  Jove,  we  can 
have  him  marry  us  right  here, — great !  " 

"  No,"  she  cried  firmly,  "  it  must  be  in  a  church." 
He  could  not  move  her  from  that  stand. 

"  Oh,  if  we  could  only  get  across  that  confounded 
river ! "  scolded  Joe,  as  they  went  off  in  search  of 
Derby. 

Windomshire  was  slowly  reconciling  himself  to  the 
fact  that  Eleanor  loved  Dauntless,  but  he  could  not 
get  it  out  of  his  head  that  she  still  expected  to  marry 
as  her  mother  had  planned. 


116  THE  FLYERS 

"  See  here,  Anne,  it's  all  very  well  to  say  that  she 
loves  Dauntless.  Of  course  she  does.  But  that  isn't 
going  to  prevent  her  from  marrying  me.  I  don't 
believe  she  was  running  away  with  him,  don't  you 
know.  He  was  simply  following  her.  That's  the 
way  these  Americans  do,  you  know.  Now,  the  ques- 
tion is,  won't  she  think  it  odd  that  you  and  I  should 
happen  to  be  doing  almost  the  same  thing?  " 

"  To  be  sure  she  will,"  said  Anne,  coolly.  "  She 
has  a  very  bad  opinion  of  me.  I'm  sure  she  doesn't 
believe  you  expect  to  marry  me." 

"  By  Jove,  dear,  it  sounds  rather  dreadful,  doesn't 
it?  "  he  groaned.  "  But  of  course  you  are  going  to 
marry  me,  so  what's  the  odds?  Then  she  can  marry 
Dauntless  to  her  heart's  content.  I  say,  are  we  never 
to  get  away  from  this  beastly  place  ?  " 

"  They  are  to  row  us  across  the  river  in  boats. 
We'll  be  taken  up  by  another  train  over  there  and 
carried  on.  Poor  Mr.  Dauntless,  he  looks  so 
harassed." 

"  By  Jove,  I  feel  rather  cut  up  about  him.  He 
ought  to  have  her,  Anne.  He's  a  decent  chap,  al- 
though he  was  da — very  unreasonable  last  night. 
I  like  him,  too,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  kicked  coal 
over  me  twice  in  that  confounded  bin.  He  was  good 
enough  to  take  a  cinder  out  of  my  eye  this  morning, 
and  I  helped  him  to  find  his  watch  in  the  coal-bin.  I 
say,  Anne,  we  might  get  a  farm  waggon  and  drive 
to  some  village  where  there  is  a  minister — " 

"  No,  Harry !  you  know  I've  set  my  heart  on  being 
married  in  a  church.  It  seems  so  much  more  decent 


THE  FLYERS  117 

and — regular;  especially  after  what  has  just  hap- 
pened." 

A  porter   appeared  in  the  rear  platform   and 
shouted  a  warning  to  all  those  on  the  ground. 

"Get  yo'  things  together.  The  boat'll  be  ready 
in  ten  minutes,  ladies  and  genTmen."  The  locomo- 
tive uttered  a  few  sharp  whistles  to  reinforce  his 
shouts,  and  everybody  made  a  rush  for  the  cars. 

The  conductor  and  other  trainmen  had  all  they 
could  do  to  reassure  the  more  nervous  and  apprehen- 
sive of  the  passengers,  many  of  whom  were  afraid  of 
the  swollen,  ugly  river  just  ahead.  Boats  had  been 
sent  up  from  a  town  some  miles  down  the  stream, 
and  the  passengers  with  their  baggage,  the  express, 
and  the  mail  pouches  were  to  be  ferried  across.  Word 
had  been  received  that  a  makeshift  train  would  pick 
them  up  on  the  other  side,  not  far  from  the  wrecked 
bridge,  and  take  them  to  Omegon  as  quickly  as  pos- 
sible. 

It  was  also  announced  that  the  company  would  be 
unable  to  send  a  train  beyond  Omegon  and  into  the 
northwest  for  eight  or  ten  hours,  owing  to  extensive 
damage  by  the  floods.  Repairs  to  bridges  and  road- 
bed were  necessary.  In  the  meantime,  the  pas- 
sengers would  be  cared  for  at  the  Somerest  Hotel  in 
Omegon,  at  the  company's  expense.  The  company 
regretted  and  deplored,  etc. 

There  was  a  frightful  clamour  by  the  through 
passengers,  threats  of  lawsuits,  claims  for  damage, 
execrations,  and  groans.  In  time,  however,  the  whole 
company  went  trooping  down  the  track  under  the 


118  THE  FLYERS 

leadership  of  the  patient  conductor.  It  was  a  sorry, 
disgruntled  parade.  Everybody  wanted  a  porter  at 
once,  and  when  he  could  not  get  one,  berated  the  road 
in  fiercer  terms  than  ever ;  men  who  had  always  carried 
their  own  bags  to  escape  feeing  a  porter,  now  howled 
and  raged  because  there  was  not  an  army  of  them 
on  the  spot.  Everybody  was  constantly  "  damning  " 
the  luck. 

The  conductor  led  his  charges  from  the  track 
through  a  muddy  stubble-field  and  down  to  a  point 
where  half  a  dozen  small  rowboats  were  waiting 
among  the  willows.  Dauntless  and  Eleanor  were  well 
up  in  front,  their  faces  set  resolutely  toward  Omegon. 
For  some  well-defined  reason,  Windomshire  and  Anne 
were  the  last  in  the  strange  procession.  The  medical 
college  agent,  the  tall  and  sombre  Mr.  Hooker,  was 
the  first  man  into  a  boat.  He  said  it  was  a  case  of 
life  or  death. 

Eleanor  looked  backward  down  the  long  file  of 
trailers,  a  little  smile  on  her  lips. 

"  They  are  not  all  going  away  to  be  married,  are 
they,  Joe?  "  she  said,  taking  note  of  the  unbroken 
array  of  sour  countenances. 

"  It  looks  like  a  funeral,  my  dear.  Look  at  the 
cadaverous  individual  beside  the  con — Heavens,  Nell, 
isn't  that — by  George,  it  is!  It's  old  Mrs.  Van 
Truder!  Back  there  about  half-way — the  fat  one. 
See  her?  Good  Lord!" 

Eleanor  turned  pale  and  the  joyous  light  fled  from 
her  eyes. 

"  Oh,  dear !    I  forgot  that  the  Van  Truders  spend 


THE  FLYERS  11 9 

all  their  summers  at  Omegon.  And  it  is  she — and  he, 
too.  Oh,  Joe,  it's  just  awful !  " 

"  She's  the  worst  old  cat  in  town,"  groaned  Daunt- 
less. "  We  can't  escape  her.  She'll  spot  us,  and 
she'll  never  let  go  of  us.  I  don't  mind  him.  He's 
so  near-sighted  he  couldn't  see  us.  But  she !  " 

"  She  will  suspect,  Joe — she's  sure  to  suspect,  and 
she'll  watch  us  like  a  hawk,"  whispered  the  distressed 
Eleanor.  The  Van  Truders  lived  in  the  same  block 
with  the  Thursdales  in  town.  "  She'll  telegraph  to 
mother ! " 

"  That  reminds  me,"  muttered  Joe,  looking  at  his 
watch.  "  I  had  hoped  to  telegraph  to  your  mother 
about  this  time." 

"  She  will  forgive  us,"  said  she,  but  she  failed  in 
her  assumption  of  confidence.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
she  felt  that  her  mother  would  not  forgive. 

"  Well,  you  left  a  note  pinned  on  your  pillow," 
said  he,  as  if  that  covered  all  the  sins. 

"  Yes,  but  it  was  directed  to  Miss  Courtenay,  ask- 
ing her  to  break  it  gently  to  mamma,"  said  she,  dis- 
mally. 

They  had  reached  the  edge  of  the  river  by  this 
time  and  others  came  up  with  them.  For  a  while 
they  managed  to  keep  out  of  old  Mrs.  Van  Truder's 
range  of  vision,  but  her  sharp  eyes  soon  caught  sight 
of  them  as  they  tried  to  slip  into  a  boat  that  was 
already  crowded  to  its  full  capacity. 

"Why,  Eleanor  Thursdale!"  shouted  the  old 
lady,  her  aristocratic  eyes  almost  crossing  in  their 
stare  of  amazement. 


120  THE  FLYERS 

"  Discovered !  "  groaned  Dauntless  to  the  willows. 

Mrs.  Van  Truder  pounced  upon  Eleanor  and,  be- 
tween personal  questions  and  impersonal  reflections 
upon  non-government  railways,  gave  her  a  dizzy 
quarter  of  an  hour.  She  ignored  Mr.  Dauntless  al- 
most completely, — quite  entirely  when  she  discovered 
Mr.  Windomshire  in  the  background.  Little  old  Mr. 
Van  Truder,  in  his  usual  state  of  subjection,  was  per- 
mitted to  study  the  scenery  at  close  range. 

"  I  was  so  afraid  you'd  marry  that  horrid  Daunt- 
less fellow,"  whispered  Mrs.  Van  Truder.  Eleanor 
gave  vent  to  a  constrained  laugh. 

"  How  perfectly  preposterous !  w 

**  When  are  you  to  be  married,  my  dear?  " 

"  At  once — I  mean,  quite  soon.  Isn't  the  scenery 
beautiful,  Mr.  Van  Truder? "  asked  Eleanor  in 
desperation. 

"  It's  too  far  away.  I  can't  see  it,"  grumbled  the 
old  gentleman. 

"He's  so  very  near-sighed,"  explained  his  wife. 
"  Do  you  expect  to  stay  long  at  the  Somerset?  " 

"  It  all  depends,"  said  Eleanor,  with  a  glance  at 
Dauntless. 

"  Isn't  that  your  governess  with  Mr.  Windom- 
shire? I  can't  be  mistaken." 

"  Yes,  she's  going  out  to  spend  a  few  weeks  with  a 
rich  aunt, — her  sister's  mother,  I  think." 

"  How's  that?  "  gasped  the  old  lady. 

"  I  mean  her  mother's  sister." 

"  It  sounded  very  strange,  my  dear." 

"  About   the   mother   having   a   sister? "   guessed 


THE  FLYERS  121 

old  Mr.  Van  Truder,  sharply.  "Seems  all  right 
to  me." 

"  They  are  going  to  row  us  across  the  river," 
volunteered  Eleanor,  helplessly. 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Windomshire,"  called  Mrs. 
Van  Truder.  Windomshire  started  and  got  very 
red  in  the  face.  Miss  Courtenay's  bow  went  un- 
noticed by  the  old  lady.  In  sheer  despair,  the  Eng- 
lishman turned  to  Dauntless,  a  fellow-sufferer. 

"  I  say,  old  man,"  he  began  nervously,  "  I'd  like  to 
ask  a  favour  of  you." 

"  Go  ahead — anything  I  can  do,"  said  the  other, 
blankly.  Windomshire  continued  in  lowered  tones : 

"  Deucedly  awkward,  but  I  forgot  my  bags  at 
Fenlock.  I  see  you've  got  yours.  Would  you  mind 
lending  me  a  fresh  shirt  and  a  collar,  old  chap  ?  " 

"  Gladly,"  cried  Joe,  very  much  relieved.  "  Will 
you  take  them  now?"  starting  to  open  his  bag. 
Windomshire  hastily  interposed. 

"  I'd  rather  not,  old  chap.  It's  rather  exposed 
here,  don't  you  know.  Later  on,  if  you  please. 
Thanks,  old  man ;  I'll  not  forget  this."  They  shook 
hands  without  any  apparent  excuse. 

"Mr.  Windomshire!"  called  Mrs.  Van  Truder. 
He  turned  with  a  hopeless  look  in  his  eyes.  The  two 
girls  had  misery  and  consternation  plainly  stamped 
in  their  faces.  "  We  can't  all  go  over  in  the  next 
boats,  you  know.  I've  no  doubt  you  and  Miss 
Thursdale  would  not  in  the  least  mind  being  left  to 
the  last,"  with  a  sly  smile. 

"  Oh — er — ah,  by  Jove !  "  gasped  Windomshire, 


122  THE  FLYERS 

with  a  glance  at  the  still  faces  of  the  young  women:, 
He  saw  no  relief  there. 

"  Blamed  cat !  "  muttered  Dauntless,  gritting  his 
teeth. 

"  Mr.  Dauntless,  will  you  and  Miss  Courtenay 
come  with  us  in  this  boat?  I  want  some  one  to  keep 
the  snakes  away ;  Mr.  Van  Truder  can't  see  them,  you 
know." 

There  was  no  way  out  of  it.  Joe  and  Anne  meekly 
followed  the  Van  Truders  into  the  wobbly  boat,  re- 
sentment in  their  hearts,  uncertainty  in  their  minds. 
They  rowed  away,  leaving  Windomshire  and  Eleanor 
standing  among  the  willows,  ill  at  ease  and  troubled 
beyond  expression. 


CHAPTER  V 

AS  NIGHT  APPROACHES 

Neither  spoke  until  the  boat  came  to  its  slippery, 
uncertain  landing-place  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
river.  Then  each  breathed  easier,  in  a  sigh  that 
seemed  to  express  both  relief  and  dismay. 

"It's  a  very  ugly  looking  river,"  she  murmured 
encouragingly.  She  was  afraid  he  might  feel  obliged, 
in  honour,  to  offer  an  explanation  for  his  presence, 
perhaps  attempt  to  convince  her  in  some  tangible 
way  that  she  was  to  expect  nothing  but  slavish  devo- 
tion from  him  in  the  future. 

"  I  don't  wonder  that  the  bridge  gave  way,"  he  re- 
plied politely.  They  looked  at  each  other  in- 
voluntarily, and  then  instantly  looked  away. 

"  I'd  give  my  head  to  know  what  she  expects  of 
me,"  thought  Windomshire  miserably. 

"  How  I  despise  that  old  woman !  "  welled  up  in 
Eleanor's  bitter  heart.  Everything  was  awry. 
Luckily  for  both  of  them  a  small  boy  slipped  into  the 
river  at  that  moment.  He  was  rescued  by  the  brake- 
man,  but  not  until  the  catastrophe  had  served  its  pur- 
pose as  a  godsend.  The  excitement  which  attended 
the  rescue  saved  the  couple  an  uncomfortable  ten 
minutes.  Eleanor  went  to  the  assistance  of  the  dis- 
123 


124  THE  FLYERS 

tracted  mother ;  Windomshire,  in  his  eagerness  to  do 
something,  offered  to  exchange  clothes  with  the 
dripping  trainman;  the  small  boy  howled  as  lustily 
as  his  wheezy  lungs  would  permit.  Everybody 
shouted  advice  to  the  mother,  rebukes  to  the  boy, 
and  praise  to  the  hero;  altogether  Providence  was 
acting  most  handsomely. 

At  last  the  final  boatload  of  passengers  crossed 
the  river  and  drew  up  at  the  landing;  Eleanor,  with 
her  bewildered  fiance,  stepped  into  the  beaming 
presence  of  Mrs.  Van  Truder. 

**  Come  with  us,"  she  said  with  a  friendliness  that 
shattered  all  hope.  "  Mr.  Van  Truder  has  just  ar- 
ranged for  breakfast  at  that  farmhouse  over  there. 
The  relief  train  won't  be  here  for  half  an  hour  or  more 
and  you  must  be  famished."  Eleanor's  flimsy  excuses 
were  unavailing;  her  protestations  that  she  could  not 
eat  a  mouthful  fell  on  obdurate  ears.  Windomshire, 
catching  sight  of  the  forlorn  Anne,  was  about  to  as- 
sert himself  vigorously  in  declining  the  invitation 
when  a  meaning  look  from  the  governess  caused  him 
to  refrain.  The  look  very  plainly  told  him  to  ac- 
cept. 

The  unhappy  couple  followed  the  Van  Truders  to 
the  nearby  farmhouse.  They  left  behind  them  on  the 
edge  of  the  crowd,  seated  side  by  side  on  a  pile  of  ties, 
two  miserable  partners  in  the  fiasco.  Gloomy,  indeed, 
was  the  outlook  for  Miss  Courtenay  and  the  despised 
Mr.  Dauntless.  They  were  silent  for  many  minutes 
after  the  departure,  rage  in  their  hearts.  Then 
Mr.  Dauntless  could  hold  his  tongue  no  longer. 


THE  FLYERS  125 

"  Damn  her !  "  he  exploded  so  viciously  that  Anne 
jumped  and  cried  out, — 

"Mr.  Dauntless!" 

"  Oh,  you  feel  just  as  I  do  about  it  only  you  won't 
say  it  aloud,"  he  exclaimed.  "I  won't  stand  for 
it!" 

"  I — I  am  sure  Miss  Thursdale  has  done  nothing 
to  deserve  your  curses,"  she  began  diplomatically. 

"  Good  Heavens,  Miss  Courtenay,  you — Oh,  I  say, 
you  know  I  didn't  mean  Eleanor.  The  old  pelican — 
that's  the  one.  Old  Mrs.  Intruder,"  he  grated. 

"  I  am  sure  it  is  all  quite  regular,"  observed  Anne, 
so  seriously  that  he  looked  at  her  in  wonder.  It 
began  to  creep  into  his  head  that  his  speculations 
were  wrong,  after  all.  At  any  rate  it  seemed  advis- 
able to  put  a  sharp  curb  on  his  tongue. 

"  I'm  sorry  I  spoke  as  I  did  about  the  old  lady," 
he  said,  after  a  moment's  reflection.  "  I  was  think- 
ing of  the  way  in  which  she  left  you  out  of  her  invita- 
tion to  breakfast." 

"  And  yourself,  incidentally,"  she  smiled. 

"  Miss  Courtenay,  I'm — I'm  a  confounded  ass  for 
not  thinking  of  your  breakfast.  It's  not  too  late. 
We  are  both  hungry.  Won't  you  come  with  me  and 
have  a  bit  of  something  to  eat  ?  We'll  try  that  farm- 
house ourselves.  Come,  let  us  hurry  or  the  crowd 
will  get  in  ahead  of  us.  Ham  and  eggs  and  coffee! 
they  always  have  that  sort  of  breakfast  in  farm- 
houses, I'm  told.  Come." 

She  sprang  up  cheerfully,  and  followed  him  across 
the  meadow  to  the  farmhouse.  The  Van  Truder 


126  THE  FLYERS 

party  was  entering  the  door,  smoke  pouring  forth 
suggestively  from  a  chimney  in  the  rear  of  the  house. 
The  sudden  desire  for  ham  and  eggs  was  overcoming, 
in  a  way,  the  pangs  of  outraged  love;  there  was 
solace  in  the  new  thought. 

That  breakfast  was  one  never  to  be  forgotten  by 
four  persons ;  two  others  remembered  it  to  their  last 
days  on  account  of  its  amazing  excellence.  A  dozen 
persons  were  crowded  into  the  little  dining-room ;  no 
one  went  forth  upon  his  travels  with  an  empty 
stomach.  No  such  profitable  harvest  had  ever  been 
reaped  by  the  farmer.  Dauntless  and  Anne  ate  off 
of  a  sewing-table  in  the  corner.  Mrs.  Van  Truder 
deliberately  refused  to  hear  Mr.  Windomshire's 
timorous  suggestion  that  they  "  make  room "  for 
them  at  the  select  table.  Silent  anathemas  accom- 
panied every  mouthful  of  food  that  went  down  the 
despot's  throat,  but  she  did  not  know  it.  Fortunately 
the  lovers  were  healthy  and  hungry.  They  fared 
forth  after  that  memorable  breakfast  with  lighter 
hearts,  though  still  misplaced  by  an  unrelenting 
fate. 

All  the  way  to  Omegon  Anne  sat  in  the  seat  with 
the  seething  Dauntless,  each  nursing  a  pride  that  had 
received  almost  insupportable  injuries  during  the 
morning  hours.  Windomshire  and  Eleanor,  under 
the  espionage  of  the  "  oldest  friend  of  the  family," 
moped  and  sighed  with  a  frankness  that  could  not 
have  escaped  more  discerning  eyes.  Mrs.  Van 
Truder,  having  established  herself  as  the  much  needed 
chaperon,  sat  back  complacently  and  gave  her 


THE  FLYERS  127 

charges  every  opportunity  to  hold  private  and  no 
doubt  sacred  communication  in  the  double  seat  just 
across  the  aisle. 

Eleanor  pleaded  fatigue,  and  forthwith  closed  her 
wistful  eyes.  Windomshire,  with  fine  consideration, 
sank  into  a  rapt  study  of  the  flitting  farm  lands. 
Having  got  but  little  sleep  among  the  coals,  he  finally 
dropped  off  into  a  peaceful  cat  nap. 

Omegon  was  reached  before  Eleanor  had  the 
courage  to  awaken  him.  She  did  so  then  only  be- 
cause it  was  impossible  for  her  to  crawl  over  his  knees 
without  losing  her  dignity ;  they  were  planted  sturdily 
against  the  seat  in  front.  She  fled  like  a  scared  child 
to  Joe's  side,  her  mind  made  up  to  cling  to  him  now, 
no  matter  what  manner  of  opposition  prevailed. 

"  I'll  go  with  you,  Joe,"  she  whispered  fiercely. 
"  I  don't  care  what  any  one  says  or  thinks.  Your 
cousin  will  meet  us  with  the  carriage,  won't  he?  "  she 
concluded  piteously.  Windomshire  also  had  taken 
the  bull  by  the  horns  and  was  helping  Miss  Courtenay 
from  the  train  with  an  assiduity  that  brought  down 
the  wrath  of  obstructing  passengers  upon  his  devoted 
head. 

"  He  said  he  would,"  replied  Dauntless,  his  spirits 
in  the  clouds.  "  We  must  get  away  from  these  people, 
Nell.  "  I'll  go  crazy  in  another  minute.  There's 
Derby  waiting  for  instructions.  Dear  old  Darb — 
he's  a  brick.  My  cousin  Jim  is  a  deacon  or  some- 
thing in  the  village  church,  dear,  and  he  has  promised 
to  let  us  in.  I  suppose  he  has  a  key.  He  and  his  wife 
will  be  the  only  witnesses.  By  George,  nothing  can 


128  THE  FLYERS 

stop  us  now,  dear,  if  you  have  the  nerve  to — Where 
the  dickens  is  Jim?  Confound  him,  I  don't  see  him  on 
the  platform." 

He  looked  about  the  station  platform — first 
anxiously,  then  impatiently,  then — with  consterna- 
tion! His  cousin  was  nowhere  in  sight.  Cold  with 
apprehensiveness,  he  dashed  over  to  a  citizen  who 
wore  a  star  upon  his  coat,  almost  dragging  Eleanor 
after  him. 

"Is  Jim  Carpenter  here?  Have  you  seen  him? 
Do  you  know  him?  "  he  demanded. 

"  He  was  here,  mister.  'Bout  two  hours  ago,  I 
reckon.  I  guess  you  must  be  the  fellow  he  was  to 
meet—" 

"  Yes,  yes, — where  is  he  now?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  mister.  His  wife's  got  pneumonia, 
an'  he  told  me  to  tell  you  he  couldn't  wait.  He  took 
the  doctor  right  out  to—" 

"  Good  Lord !  "  exploded  Joe.  The  citizen  jumped 
a  few  inches  into  the  air.  "  He's  gone?  " 

"  Yep.  But  he  told  me  to  tell  you  to  go  over  to 
the  Somerset  an'  wait  till  you  hear  from  him." 

"Wait — till — I  hear — from — him?"  groaned 
Dauntless,  wild-eyed  but  faint.  He  and  Eleanor 
looked  at  each  other  in  despair. 

"  Go — to — the — hotel?  "  she  murmured,  her  heart 
in  her  boots.  "  I  never  can  do  that,"  she  continued. 
Her  voice  was  full  of  tears. 

Mrs.  Van  Truder  bore  down  upon  them  like  an 
angry  vulture.  They  saw  her  coming,  but  neither 
had  the  strength  of  purpose  to  move. 


THE  FLYERS  129 

Before  they  really  knew  how  it  happened,  she  was 
leading  Eleanor  to  the  hotel  'bus  and  he  was  limply 
following,  lugging  both  bags  with  a  faithfulness 
that  seemed  pathetic.  Two  minutes  later  they  were 
in  the  'bus,  touching  knees  with  the  equally  dazed  and 
discomfited  English  people. 

Back  on  the  platform  the  elongated  medical  gentle- 
man, Mr.  Hooker,  was  talking  loudly,  wrathfully  to 
the  station  agent.  His  voice  rang  in  their  ears  long 
after  the  'bus  rolled  away  on  its  "  trip  "  to  the  big 
summer  hotel. 

"  You  say  old  man  Grover  ain't  dead  yet?" 
Mr.  Hooker  was  growling  resentfully,  even  indig- 
nantly. 

"  He  ain't  expected  to  live  till  night,  sir,  poor  old 
man,"  replied  the  agent. 

"  Well,  I'll  be  damned !  "  roared  Mr.  Hooker.  « I 
don't  see  any  sense  in  a  man  of  his  age  hanging  on 
like  this.  He's  eighty-three.  My  time  is  valuable  " — 
looking  at  his  big  silver  watch — "  and  I  can't  afford 
to  hang  around  here  if  he's  going  to  act  like  this." 
The  agent  stared  after  him  as  if  he  were  looking  at  a 
maniac.  Mr.  Hooker  set  off  in  the  direction  of  old 
Mr.  Grover's  house,  which  had  been  pointed  out  to 
him  by  a  gaping  small  boy.  "  I'll  go  up  and  see  about 
it,"  he  remarked,  as  he  stepped  across  a  wide  rivulet 
in  the  middle  of  the  main  street. 

The  Somerset  Hotel  was  situated  on  the  most  beau- 
tiful point  of  land  touching  that  trim  little  lake 
which  attracted  hundreds  of  city  people  annually  by 
its  summer  wiles.  It  was  too  sedate  and  quiet  to  be 


130  THE  FLYERS 

fashionable ;  the  select  few  who  went  there  sought  rest 
from  the  frivolities  of  the  world.  Eleanor  Thurs- 
dale  had  spent  one  tiresome  but  proper  season  there 
immediately  after  the  death  of  her  father.  She  hated 
everything  in  connection  with  the  place  except  the 
little  old-fashioned  church  at  the  extreme  end  of  the 
village  street,  fully  half  a  mile  from  the  hotel.  She 
had  chosen  it,  after  romantic  reflection,  as  the  sanctu- 
ary in  which  she  should  become  the  wife  of  the  man  she 
loved,  spurning  the  great  church  in  town  and  one 
of  its  loveless  matches. 

The  forenoon  is  left  to  the  imagination  of  the 
reader, — with  all  of  its  unsettled  plans,  its  doubts 
and  misgivings,  its  despairs  and  its  failures,  its  sub- 
terfuges and  its  strategies,  its  aggravations  and  com- 
plaints. Bell-boys  carried  surreptitious  notes  from 
room  to  room ;  assurances,  hopes,  and  reassurances 
passed  one  another  in  systematic  confusion.  Love 
was  trying  to  find  its  way  out  of  the  maze. 

Immediately  after  luncheon  Dauntless  set  out  to 
discover  his  faithless  cousin.  Eleanor  kept  close  to 
her  room,  in  readiness  for  instant  flight.  The  neces- 
sary Mr.  Derby  had  his  instructions  to  remain  where 
he  could  be  found  without  trouble.  Mrs.  Van  Truder, 
taking  up  Eleanor's  battles,  busied  herself  and  every 
one  else  in  the  impossible  task  of  locating  the  young 
woman's  trunks,  which,  according  to  uncertain  re- 
ports, had  gone  mysteriously  astray.  Moreover,  she 
had  prepared  a  telegram  to  the  young  lady's  mother, 
assuring  her  that  she  was  quite  safe ;  but  Mr.  Daunt- 


THE  FLYERS  131 

less  boldly  intercepted  Mr.  Van  Truder  on  his  way  to 
the  desk. 

"  Allow  me,"  he  remarked,  deliberately  taking  the 
despatch  from  the  old  gentleman.  "  I'll  send  it  from 
the  station.  Don't  bother  about  it,  Mr.  Van  Truder." 
He  drove  through  the  village,  but  did  not  stop  at  the 
station ;  his  instructions  to  the  driver  did  not  include 
a  pause  anywhere.  It  is  not  necessary  to  relate  what 
took  place  when  he  descended  upon  the  unfortunate 
Jim ;  it  is  sufficient  to  say  that  he  dragged  him  from 
his  sick  wife's  bedside  and  berated  him  soundly  for 
his  treachery.  Then  it  was  all  rearranged, — the  hap- 
less Jim  being  swept  into  promises  which  he  could  not 
break,  even  with  death  staring  his  wife  in  the  face. 
The  agitated  Mr.  Dauntless  drove  back  to  the  hotel 
with  a  new  set  of  details  perfected.  This  time  noth- 
ing should  go  wrong. 

His  first  action  was  to  acquaint  Derby  with  the 
plans,  and  then  to  send  a  note  of  instructions  to  Elea- 
nor, guarding  against  any  chance  that  they  might 
not  be  able  to  communicate  with  each  other  in  per- 
son. 

"  It's  all  fixed,"  he  announced  to  Derby,  in  a  se- 
cluded corner  of  the  grounds.  "  To-night  at  nine  we 
are  to  be  at  the  church  down  the  road  there — see  it? 
Nobody  is  on  to  us,  and  Jim  has  a  key.  He  will  meet 
you  there  at  a  quarter  of  nine.  But,  hang  it  all,  his 
wife  can't  act  as  a  witness.  We've  got  to  provide 
one.  He  suggested  the  postmaster,  but  I  don't  like 
the  idea;  it  looks  too  much  like  a  cheap  elopement. 
I'd  just  as  soon  have  the  cook  or  the  housemaid.  I'll 


132  THE  FLYERS 

get  Eleanor  there  if  I  have  to  kill  that  Van  Truder 
woman.  Now,  whom  shall  we  have  as  the  second  wit- 
ness? " 

"  Windomshire,  I'm  afraid,"  lamented  Derby. 
"  You  won't  be  able  to  get  rid  of  him." 

"  Hang  him !  "  groaned  Dauntless,  his  spirits  fall- 
ing, but  instantly  reviving.  "  But  he's  dead  in  love 
with  Miss  Courtenay.  It's  pitiful,  old  man.  He  feels 
that  he's  got  to  marry  Nell,  but  it's  not  in  his  heart  to 
do  it.  Now  if  we  could  only  shunt  him  off  on  to  Miss 
Courtenay  this  evening!  Her  train  leaves  at  nine, 
they  say.  He  might  be  forced  to  take  her  to  the 
station  if  you  will  only  get  busy  and  make  him  jeal- 
ous." 

"Jealous?    I?" 

"  Certainly.  It  won't  be  much  of  an  effort  for  you, 
and  it  will  help  me  immensely.  Make  love  to  her  this 
afternoon,  and  when  you  suggest  taking  her  to  the 
station  this  evening  he'll  be  so  wrought  up  that  he 
won't  stand  for  it.  See  what  I  mean  ?  " 

"  Now  see  here,  Joe,  I'm  willing  to  do  a  great  deal 
for  you,  but  this  is  too  much.  You  forget  that  I  am  a 
minister  of  the  gospel.  It's — " 

"  I  know,  old  man,  but  you  might  do  a  little  thing 
like  this  for —  By  Jove,  I've  got  it !  Why  not  have 
old  Mr.  Van  Truder  for  the  other  witness?  " 

Mr.  Van  Truder  was  crossing  the  lawn,  picking  his 
way  carefully. 

"  Good  afternoon,"  greeted  Dauntless. 

"Afternoon,"  responded  Mr.  Van  Truder.  "I» 
this  the  hotel?  " 


THE  FLYERS  183 

"  No,  sir ;  the  hotel  is  about  ten  feet  to  your  left. 
By  the  way,  Mr.  Van  Truder,  would  you  mind  doing 
me  a  favour  this  evening?  " 

"Gladly.     Who  are  you?" 

"  Joe  Dauntless." 

"  Anything,  my  dear  Joe." 

"  Well,  it's  a  dead  secret." 

"A  secret?  Trust  me,"  cried  the  old  man,  joy- 
fully. 

"  First,  let  me  introduce  my  friend,  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Derby.  He's  in  the  secret.  It  will  go  no  farther,  I 
trust,  Mr.  Van  Truder." 

"  My  wife  says  I  can't  keep  a  secret,  but  I'll  show 
her  that  I  can.  Trust  me,  my  boy." 

"  I'll  bet  you  a  hundred  dollars  you  can't  keep  this 
one,"  said  Joe,  inspired. 

"Done!" 

"  Well,"  bravely  but  cautiously,  "  I'm  going  to  be 
married  to-night.  Be  careful  now!  Look  out! 
Don't  explode !  Remember  the  bet !"  The  old  gentle- 
man repressed  his  feelings. 

"Beautiful!"  he  exclaimed.  "Congratulations, 
my  boy." 

"  Now  for  the  favour.  I  want  you  to  act  as  a  wit- 
ness. It's  to  be  a  very  quiet  affair."  Dauntless  ex- 
plained as  much  of  the  situation  to  him  as  he  thought 
necessary,  omitting  the  lady's  name.  Mr.  Van  Tru- 
der bubbled  over  with  joy  and  eagerness.  He  prom- 
ised faithfully  to  accompany  Mr.  Derby,  pooh-hoo- 
ing  the  suggestion  that  he  could  not  slip  away  from 
the  hotel  without  his  wife  being  aware  of  the  fact. 


134  THE  FLYERS 

"Trust  me,  my  boy.  Don't  worry.  I'm  always 
Johnny-on-the-spot.  Where  did  you  say  the  hotel 
was?  I'll  go  up  and  get  ready.  Oh,  by  the  way, 
who  is  the  young  lady?  " 

"  She's  a  friend  of  Mr.  Dauntless's,"  said  Mr. 
Derby. 

"To  be  sure;  I  might  have  known.  Silly  ques- 
tion." 

The  young  men  watched  him  enter  the  hotel,  but 
they  did  not  see  him  fall  into  the  clutches  of  his  wife 
just  inside  the  door. 

"  Where  have  you  been? "  demanded  Mrs.  Van 
Truder. 

"  I've  been  looking  everywhere  for  you,  my  dear," 
he  said,  almost  whimpering.  "  I've  got  a  grand  se- 
cret, but  I  can't  tell  you.  Don't  ask  me !  " 

"  Is  it  a  wedding?  "  she  demanded  sternly. 

"  Dear  me!  Do  you  know  it  too?  "  he  cried,  be- 
wildered. "  But  that's  not  the  real  secret ;  it's  only 
part  of  it.  Joe  is  going  to  marry  some  friend  of  his 
to-night — but  that's  as  far  as  I'll  go.  I'll  not  be- 
tray the  secret."  He  hurried  away  to  avoid  ques- 
tions, muttering  to  himself  as  he  went :  "  She's  dying 
to  know.  But  a  secret's  a  secret.  She  sha'n't  know 
that  I  am  to  be  a  witness." 

Mrs.  Van  Truder  pondered  long  and  deeply,  but 
she  was  not  well  enough  acquainted  with  all  of  the 
facts  to  hazard  a  guess  as  to  who  the  girl  might  be. 
It  came  to  her  memory  that  Dauntless  had  been  with 
Miss  Courtenay  all  morning,  however,  and  she  won- 
dered not  a  little.  Windomshire  was  approaching  in 


THE  FLYERS  135 

search  of  Anne,  who  was  to  have  met  him  as  if  by  ac- 
cident in  a  corner  of  the  reading-room. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Windomshire,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Van  Tra- 
der, darting  toward  him. 

"  How  do,  Mrs.  Van  Trader?  How  are  you  to- 
day? "  he  asked,  scarcely  able  to  hide  his  annoyance. 

"  That  is  the  tenth  time  you've  asked  me  that  ques- 
tion. I  must  repeat :  I  am  quite  well." 

"  Oh,  pardon  my  inquisitiveness.  It  has  been  a 
very  long  day,  you  know." 

"  I  want  you  and  Miss  Thursdale  to  dine  with  me 
at  eight  this  evening.  I  think  I'll  have  a  little  sur- 
prise for  you,"  she  said  mysteriously.  Windomshire 
glared,  and  then  managed  to  give  a  provisional  ac- 
ceptance. It  all  depended  on  the  hour  of  leaving  for 
the  train.  As  he  hurried  off  to  find  Anne  he  was 
groaning  to  himself :  "  How  the  deuce  can  I  go  to 
a  dinner  and  run  off  again  with  Anne?  I've  got  every- 
thing arranged.  I  can't  let  a  beastly  dinner  inter- 
fere. I  won't  go,  hang  me  if  I  do."  He  came  upon 
Anne  in  the  corner  of  the  library — the  most  unfre- 
quented corner. 

"  Well?  "  she  questioned  eagerly.  He  clasped  her 
hands,  beaming  once  more. 

"  I've  seen  him,  dear.  It's  all  right.  My  word, 
I've  had  no  end  of  a  busy  day.  The  confounded  fel- 
low was  out  making  calls  on  the  congregation,  as  they 
say,  and  I  had  to  pursue  him  from  house  to  house, 
always  missing  him,  by  Jove." 

"  But  you  did  find  him?  "  anxiously. 

"  Of  course.    He  will  be  at  the  church  at  nine  to- 


136  THE  FLYERS 

night — sharp.  He  understands  that  no  one  is  to 
know  about  it.  His  fee  is  ten  pounds — quite  a  bit  for 
a  chap  like  him.  I  found  him  calling  upon  a  fellow 
who  is  about  to  die — a  Mr.  Grover.  He  sent  out  word 
I'd  have  to  wait  as  the  old  gentleman  was  passing 
away.  By  Jove,  do  you  know  I  was  that  intense  that 
I  sent  in  word  that  the  old  gentleman  would  have  to 
wait  a  bit — I  couldn't.  The  pastor  came  out  and — 
well,  it  seems  that  the  fee  for  helping  a  chap  to  get 
married  is  more  substantial  than  what  he  gets  for 
helping  one  to  die.  And,  as  luck  would  have  it,  I 
found  a  fellow  who  will  act  as  one  of  the  witnesses  to 
the  ceremony  at  this  same  house, — a  Mr.  Hooker, 
Anne.  He  came  down  on  the  train  with  us.  Tall, 
dark,  professional  looking  man.  He  was  sitting  on 
Mr.  Grover's  front  steps  when  I  got  there.  The 
other  witness — must  have  two,  you  know — is  the 
head-waiter  in  the  dining-room  here — " 

"  The — head-waiter?  "  she  gasped. 

"  He's  a  very  decent  sort  of  chap,  my  dear — and, 
besides,  we  can't  be  choosers.  Waiters  are  most  dis- 
creet fellows,  too.  He's  to  get  two  pounds  for  his 
trouble.  By  Jove,  I  think  I've  done  rather  well.  I'm 
sorry  if  you  don't  approve,"  he  lamented. 

"  But  I  do  approve,  Harry,"  she  cried  bravely. 
"It's  lovely!" 

"  Good !  I  knew  you  would.  Now  all  we  have  to 
do  is  to  slip  away  from  here  this  evening,  and —  Oh, 
I  say,  hang  it  all !  Mrs.  Van  Truder  has  asked  me 
to  dine  with  them  this  evening." 

"  Isn't  she  running  you  a  bit  ?  "  cried  Anne,  indig- 


THE  FLYERS  137 

nantly.  "  She  had  you  for  breakfast  and  luncheon 
and  now  it's  dinner.  I  daresay  she'll  have  you  for  tea 
too." 

"  But  I'm  not  going  to  her  confounded  dinner. 
That's  settled.  I  can't  do  it,  you  know,  and  be  on 
time  for  the  wedding.  Deuce  take  it,  what  does  she 
take  a  fellow  for?  Hello,  here  comes  the  chap  that 
Dauntless  introduced  to  us  this  morning."  Derby 
was  approaching  with  a  warm  and  ingratiating  smile. 
"  What's  his  name?  Confound  him." 

"  Mr.  Derby,  I  think.  Why  can't  they  give  us  a 
moment's  peace?  "  she  pouted.  Derby  came  up  to 
them,  his  eyes  sparkling  with  a  fire  which  they  could 
not  and  were  not  to  understand.  He  had  surveyed 
them  from  a  distance  for  some  time  before  deciding  to 
ruthlessly,  cruelly  break  in  upon  the  tranquil  situ- 
ation. 

"  She's  a  pretty  girl,"  he  reflected,  unconsciously 
going  back  to  his  college  days,  and  quite  forgetting 
his  cloth — which,  by  the  way,  was  a  neat  blue  serge 
with  a  tender  stripe.  Consoling  himself  with  the 
thought  that  he  was  doing  it  to  accommodate  an  old 
friend,  the  good-looking  Mr.  Derby  boldly  entered  the 
lists  for  the  afternoon.  He  felt,  somehow,  that  he  had 
it  in  his  power  to  make  Mr.  Windomshire  quite  jeal- 
ous— and  at  the  same  time  do  nothing  reprehensible. 
What  he  did  succeed  in  doing,  alas,  was  to  make  two 
young  people  needlessly  miserable  for  a  whole  after- 
noon— bringing  on  grievous  headaches  and  an  attack 
of  suppressed  melancholia  that  savoured  somewhat  of 
actual  madness. 


138  THE  FLYERS 

True  to  his  project,  he  laboured  hard  and  skil- 
fully for  hours.  Windomshire  moved  about  in  soli- 
tude, gnashing  his  -^eth.  wHte  Derby  unceremoni- 
ously whisked  the  dazed  Anne  off  for  pleasant  walks 
or  held  her  at  bay  in  some  secluded  corner  of  the  par- 
lours. By  dinner-time,  encouraged  by  Joe's  wild  but 
cautious  applause,  he  had  driven  Windomshire  almost 
to  distraction.  A  thing  he  did  not  know,  however, — 
else  his  pride  might  have  cringed  perceptibly, — was 
that  Anne  Courtenay  was  growing  to  hate  him  as  no 
one  was  ever  hated  before. 

"  Well,"  he  said  to  the  nervous  Mr.  Dauntless  at 
seven  o'clock  that  evening,  having  arrived  at  what  he 
called  the  conclusion  of  his  day's  work,  "  I  think  I've 
done  all  that  was  expected,  haven't  I?  " 

"You've  got  him  crazy,  old  boy.  Look  at  him! 
It's  the  first  minute  he's  had  since  half-past  two. 
Say,  what  do  you  think  of  this  cursed  weather?  It's 
raining  again — and  muddy!  Great  Scot,  old  man! 
it's  knee  deep,  and  we  don't  dare  take  a  carriage  to 
the  church.  One  can't  sneak  worth  a  cent  in  a  cab, 
you  know.  See  you  later!  There's  Eleanor  wait- 
ing to  speak  to  me.  By  George,  I'm  nervous.  You 
zeon'f  fail  us,  old  man?  " 

"  I'll  do  my  part,  Joe,"  said  Derby,  smiling. 

"  Well,  so  long,  if  I  don't  see  you  before  nine.  You 
look  out  for  old  Mr.  Van  Truder,  will  you?  See  that 
he  sneaks  out  properly.  And — " 

"  Don't  worry,  old  chap.  Go  to  Miss  Thursdale. 
She  seems  nervous." 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE    KG  AD    TO    PARADISE 

Night  again — and  again  the  mist  and  the  drizzle; 
again  the  country  lane,  but  without  the  warm  club- 
house fire,  the  cheery  lights,  the  highball,  and  the 
thumping  motor  car.  Soggy,  squashy  mud  instead 
of  the  clean  tonneau ;  heavy,  cruel  wading  through 
unknown  by-ways  in  place  of  the  thrilling  rush  to 
Fenlock.  Not  twenty-four  hours  had  passed,  and  yet 
it  seemed  that  ages  lay  between  the  joyous  midnight 
and  the  sodden,  heart-breaking  eve  that  followed. 

The  guests  at  the  Somerset  kept  close  indoors, — 
that  is,  most  of  them  did.  It  is  with  those  who 
fared  forth  resolutely  into  the  night  that  we  have  to 
do ;  the  rest  of  the  world  is  to  be  barred  from  any 
further  connection  with  this  little  history.  It  is  far 
out  in  the  dreary  country  lane  and  not  inside  the 
warm  hotel  that  we  struggle  to  attain  our  end.  First 
one,  then  another  stealthy  figure  crept  forth  into  the 
drizzle;  before  the  big  clock  struck  half-past  eight, 
at  least  six  respectable  and  supposedly  sensible  per- 
sons had  mysteriously  disappeared.  Only  one  of  our 
close  acquaintances  remained  in  the  hotel, — Mrs. 
Van  Truder.  It  was  not  to  be  long,  however,'  before 
139 


14-0  THE  FLYERS 

she,  too,  would  be  adventuring  forth  in  search  of  the 
unknown. 

By  this  it  may  be  readily  understood  that  Mr.  Van 
Truder  had  succeeded  in  escaping  from  beneath  her 
very  nose,  as  it  were. 

The  little  village  church  stood  at  the  extreme  end 
of  the  street, — dark,  dismal,  quite  awe-inspiring  on 
a  night  like  this.  A  narrow  lane  stretched  from  the 
hotel  to  the  sanctuary  and  beyond.  There  is  nothing 
at  hand  to  show  whether  it  is  a  Methodist,  a  Presbyte- 
rian, or  a  Baptist  church.  As  the  two  young  women 
most  vitally  concerned  in  this  tale  were  professedly 
high  church,  it  is  therefore  no  more  than  right  that, 
in  the  darkness,  it  should  be  looked  upon  as  an  Epis- 
copalian church. 

Two  stumbling  figures,  pressing  close  to  each  other 
in  the  shelter  of  a  single  wobbly  umbrella,  forged  their 
uncertain  way  through  the  muddy  lane.  Except  for 
the  brief  instants  when  the  dull  flicker  of  lightning 
came  to  their  relief,  they  were  in  pitch  darkness. 

"  Beastly  dark,  isnt  it?  "  said  one  of  the  figures. 

"And  beastly  muddy  too,"  said  the  other,  in  a 
high,  disconsolate  treble.  "  Oh,  dear,  where  are  we?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  but  I  feel  as  though  we  were  about 
to  step  off  of  something  every  moment.  Do  you  know, 
Anne,  it's  extraordinary  that  I  shouldn't  know  how 
to  light  one  of  these  confounded  lanterns." 

"Try  it  again,  Harry  dear.  I'll  hold  the 
umbrella." 

"  Oh,  I  see!  By  Jove,  one  has  to  open  the  thing, 
don't  you  know.  Ah,  there  we  are !  That's  better," 


THE  FLYERS  141 

he  said,  after  he  had  succeeded  in  finally  lighting 
the  wick.  He  held  the  lantern  up  close  to  her  face 
and  they  looked  at  each  other  for  a  moment.  "  Anne, 
I  do  love  you !  "  he  exclaimed.  Then  he  kissed  her. 
"  That's  the  first  time  I've  had  a  chance  to  kiss  you  in 
thirty-six  hours." 

They  plodded  onward,  closer  together  than  ever, 
coming  at  last  to  the  little  gate  which  opened  into  the 
churchyard.  Before  them  stood  the  black  little 
building  with  its  steeple,  but  the  windows  were  as 
dark  as  Erebus.  They  stopped  in  consternation. 
He  looked  at  his  watch. 

"  Confound  him,  he's  not  here !  "  growled  Windom- 
shire. 

"  Perhaps  we  are  early,"  suggested  Anne,  feebly. 

"  It's  a  quarter  to  nine,"  he  said.  "  I  suppose  there 
is  nothing  left  for  us  to  do  but  to  wait.  "  I'll  look 
around  a  bit,  dear.  Perhaps  the  witnesses  are  here 
somewhere." 

"  Oo-oo-ooh !  Don't  leave  me !  she  almost 
shrieked.  "  Look  !  There  is  a  graveyard !  I  won't 
stay  here  alone !  "  They  were  standing  at  the  foot 
of  the  rough  wooden  steps  leading  up  to  the  church 
door. 

"Pooh!  Don't  be  afraid  of  tombstones,"  he 
scoffed ;  but  he  was  conscious  of  a  little  shiver  in  his 
back.  "  They  can't  bite,  you  know.  Besides,  all 
churches  have  graveyards  and  crypts  and — " 

"  This  one  has  no  crypt,"  she  announced  positively. 
"  Goodness,  I'm  mud  up  to  my  knees  and  rain  down 
to  them.  Why  doesn't  he  come?  " 


142  THE  FLYERS 

"  I'll  give  the  signal ;  we  had  to  arrange  one,  you 
know,  for  the  sake  of  identity."  He  gave  three  loud, 
guttural  coughs.  A  dog  in  the  distance  howled 
mournfully,  as  if  in  response.  Anne  crept  closer  to 
his  side. 

"  It  sounded  as  if  some  one  were  dying,"  she  whis- 
pered. "  Look,  isn't  that  a  light? — over  there  among 
the  gravestones !  "  A  light  flickered  for  an  instant 
in  the  wretched  little  graveyard  and  then  disappeared 
as  mysteriously  as  it  came.  "  It's  gone !  How 
ghostly!" 

"  Extraordinary !  I  don't  understand.  By  Jove, 
it's  beginning  to  rain  again.  I'm  sure  to  have  ton- 
silitis.  I  feel  it  when  I  cough."  He  coughed  again, 
louder  than  before. 

Suddenly  the  steady  beam  of  a  dark  lantern  struck 
their  faces  squarely ;  a  moment  later  the  cadaverous 
Mr.  Hooker  was  climbing  over  the  graveyard  fence. 

"  Am  I  late?  "  he  asked,  as  he  came  forward. 

"  I  say,  turn  that  beastly  light  the  other  way," 
complained  Windomshire,  half  blinded.  "  I  thought 
no  one  but  robbers  carried  dark  lanterns." 

"The  darker  the  deed,  the  darker  the  lantern," 
said  Mr.  Hooker,  genially.  "  Good-evening,  madam. 
Are  we  the  only  ones  here?  "  He  was  very  matter- 
of-fact  and  business-like ;  Anne  loathed  him  on  the  in- 
stant. 

"  We're  all  here  but  the  minister  and  the  other  wit- 
ness. I'll  cough  again — although  it  hurts  me  to  do 
it." 

He  coughed  thrice,  but  instead  of  a  response  in 


THE  FLYERS  143 

kind)  three  sharp  whistles  came  from  the  trees  at  the 
left. 

"  What's  that?  "  he  gasped.  "  Has  he  forgotten 
the  signal?" 

"  Maybe  he  is  trying  to  cough,"  said  rfooker, 
"  and  can't  do  any  better  than  wheeze.  It's  this  rot- 
ten weather." 

"  No,  it  was  a  whistle.  Good  Heavens,  Anne — it 
may  be  detectives." 

"  Detectives !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Hooker,  hoarsely. 
"  Then  this  is  no  place  for  me.  Excuse  me,  I'll  just 
step  around  the  corner."  As  he  scurried  off,  he  might 
have  been  heard  to  mutter  to  himself:  "They've 
been  hounding  me  ever  since  that  job  in  the  Cosgrove 
cemetery.  Damn  'em,  I  wonder  if  they  think  I'm  up 
here  to  rob  the  grave  of  one  of  these  jays."  From 
which  it  may  be  suspected  that  Mr.  Hooker  had  been 
employed  in  the  nefarious  at  one  time  or  another. 

"Detectives,  Harry?"  gasped  Anne.  "Why 
should  there  be  detectives?  We're  not  criminals." 

"  You  can't  tell  what  Mrs.  Thursdale  may  have 
done  when  she  discovered — Hello !  There's  a  light 
down  the  road !  'Gad,  I'll  hide  this  lantern  until 
we're  sure."  He  promptly  stuck  the  lantern  inside 
his  big  raincoat  and  they  were  in  darkness  again.  A 
hundred  yards  to  the  left  a  light  bobbed  about,  re- 
minding them  of  childhood's  will-o'-the-wisp.  With- 
out a  word  Windomshire  drew  her  around  the  church, 
stumbling  over  a  discarded  pew  seat  that  stood 
against  the  wall.  Groaning  with  pain,  he  urged  her 
to  crouch  down  with  him  behind  the  seat.  All  the 


144  THE  FLYERS 

while  he  held  the  umbrella  manfully  over  her  devoted 
head. 

Voices  were  heard,  drawing  nearer  and  nearer — 
one  deep  and  cheery,  the  other  high  and  queru- 
lous. 

« It—it— oh,  Harry,  it's  that  Mr.  Derby !  "  she 
whispered.  "  I'd  know  his  voice  in  a  thousand." 

"  The  devil !  "  he  whispered  intensely,  gripping  her 
hand. 

Mr.  Derby  was  saying  encouragingly :  "  There  is 
the  church,  Mr.  Van  Truder.  Brace  up.  We  seem 
to  be  the  first  to  arrive." 

"  It's  much  farther  away  than  you  think,"  growled 
Mr.  Van  Truder.  "I  can't  see  the  lights  in  the 
window." 

"  There  are  no  lights  yet.  We  are  ahead  of  them. 
I'll  try  the  door." 

The  young  minister  kicked  the  mud  from  his  shoes 
as  he  went  up  the  steps  with  the  lantern.  He  tried 
the  door  vigorously,  and  then,  holding  the  'lantern 
high,  surveyed  the  surroundings.  Mr.  Van  Truder, 
bundled  up  like  a  motorman,  stood  below  shivering — 
but  with  joy. 

"  This  is  a  great  night  for  an  affair  of  this  kind," 
he  quaked.  "  By  George,  I  feel  twenty  years  younger. 
I  believe  I  could  turn  handsprings." 

"I  wouldn't  if  I  were  you.  Don't  forget  your 
somersault  over  that  log  back  there,  and  your 
splendid  headspin  in  the  mud  puddle.  It's  past  nine 
o'clock.  Joe's  cousin  was  to  be  here  at  8.45.  Wonder 
what  keeps  him.  Joe  will  be  here  himself  in  a  jiffy. 


THE  FLYERS  145 

Dear  me,  what  a  dreadful  night  they  have  chosen  for 
a  wedding !  " 

Windomshire  whispered  in  horror  to  the  girl  be- 
side him :  "  Good  Lord,  Anne,  they're  following  us." 

"  Please,  Harry,"  she  whispered  petulantly,  "  hold 
the  umbrella  still.  The  water  from  the  rainspout 
is  dripping  down  my  back." 

"By  George,  I  wish  Mrs.  Van  Truder  could  see 
me  now,"  came  valiantly  from  the  old  gentleman 
around  the  corner.  "  Say,  whistle  again."  Derby 
gave  three  sharp,  shrill  whistles.  In  silence  they 
waited  a  full  minute  for  the  response.  There  was  not 
a  sound  except  the  dripping  of  the  rain. 

"  I'm  afraid  something  is  wrong,"  said  Derby. 
Just  at  that  instant  Windomshire,  despite  most  heroic 
efforts  to  prevent  the  catastrophe,  sneezed  with  a 
violence  that  shook  his  entire  frame.  "  Sh !  don't 
speak,"  hissed  the  startled  minister.  "  We  are  being 
watched.  That  was  unmistakably  a  sneeze." 

"  I  can't  see  any  one,"  whispered  Mr.  Van  Truder, 
excitedly.  "  I  see  just  as  well  in  the  dark  as  I  do  in 
the  light,  too." 

"  Some  one  is  coming.  See !  There's  a  light  down 
the  road.  Let's  step  out  of  sight  just  for  a  moment." 

Windomshire  sneezed  again,  as  if  to  accelerate  the 
movements  of  the  two  men. 

"  Hang  it  all !  "  he  gurgled  in  despair.  Mr.  Derby 
had  blinded  his  lantern  and  was  hurrying  off  into  the 
grove  with  his  companion. 

"  I  can't  help  laughing,  Harry,"  whispered  Anne, 
giggling  softly.  "  You  sneeze  like  an  elephant." 


146  THE  FLYERS 

"  But  an  elephant  has  more  sense  than  to  sneeze 
as  I  do.  I  knew  I'd  take  cold.  Anne,  they're  after 
us.  It's  old  Mrs.  Van  Truder's  work.  What  are  they 
up  to?  " 

"  Whatever  it  is,  dear,  they're  just  as  much 
mystified  as  we  are.  Did  you  hear  him  whistle?  It  is 
a  signal." 

"  I  say,  Anne,  it's  a  beastly  mess  I've  got  you  into," 
groaned  he. 

"  Dear  old  Harry,  it  is  but  the  beginning  of  the 
mess  you're  getting  yourself  into.  I  love  this — every 
bit  of  it." 

"  You're  ripping,  Anne ;  that's  what  you  are.  I — 
Great  Scotland !  Here  comes  the  head-waiter,  but  we 
don't  dare  show  ourselves.  Did  you  ever  know  such 
beastly  luck?  " 

"  There's  another  man  too,  away  back  there. 
And,  look!  Isn't  that  a  light  coming  through  the 
trees  back  of  the  gravestones?  Good  Heavens, 
Harry,  we  can't  be  married  in  a  public  thorough- 
fare. Everybody  is  walking  with  lanterns.  It's 
awful." 

"  Let's  go  around  to  the  rear  of  the  church,"  he 
exclaimed  suddenly.  "Perhaps  we  can  get  our 
brains  to  work  on  a  plan  of  action.  But,  look  here, 
Anne,  no  matter  who  they  are  or  what  they  want,  I'm 
going  to  marry  you  to-night  if  I  have  to  do  it  in  the 
face  of  the  entire  crowd." 

As  they  scurried  off  through  the  tall  wet  grass  to  a 
less  exposed  station,  a  solitary  figure  came  haltingly 
through  the  little  gate.  It  was  the  head-waiter,  and, 


THE  FLYERS  147 

as  he  carried  no  lantern,  he  was  compelled  to  light 
matches  now  and  then ;  after  getting  his  bearings  he 
would  dart  resolutely  on  for  a  dozen  paces  before 
lighting  another.  Stopping  in  front  of  the  church 
door,  he  nervously  tried  to  penetrate  the  gloom  with 
an  anxious  gaze ;  then,  suddenly  bethinking,  he  gave 
three  timid  little  coughs.  Getting  no  immediate 
response,  he  growled  aloud  in  his  wrath : 

"  I've  coughed  my  head  off  in  front  of  every  house 
between  here  and  the  hotel,  and  I'm  gettin'  darned 
tired  of  it.  I  don't  like  this  business;  and  I  never 
could  stand  for  graveyards.  Good  Lord!  what's 
that?" 

Three  sharp  whistles  came  to  his  alert  ears,  com- 
ing, it  seemed,  from  the  very  heart  of  some  grim  old 
gravestone.  A  man  strode  boldly  across  the  yard 
from  the  gate,  his  walk  indicating  that  he  was  per- 
fectly familiar  with  the  lay  of  the  land. 

"  Who  coughed?  "  he  demanded  loudly.  "  Is  there 
no  one  here?  What  the  dickens  does  it  mean?  Joe 
Dauntless!  Where  are  you?  No  fooling  now;  my 
wife's  worse,  and  I  can't  stay  here  all  night."  He 
whistled  again,  and  the  head-waiter  coughed  in  a 
bewildered  reply.  "  That's  queer.  Nothing  was  said 
about  coughing." 

"Hello!"  called  the  head-waiter.  "Is  it  you, 
sir?  " 

Joe  Dauntless's  cousin  held  his  lantern  on  high  and 
finally  discovered  the  waiter  near  the  pile  of  cord- 
wood,  ready  to  run  at  a  moment's  notice. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  demanded  Mr.  Carpenter. 


148  THE  FLYERS 

"  Gustave.    But  you  ain't  the  man." 

"  I  ain't,  eh?    Didn't  you  whistle  a  minute  ago?  " 

"  I  ain't  supposed  to.  I  cough.  Say,  do  you 
know  if  a  wedding  has  taken  place  here?  I  am  a 
witness." 

"Oh,  I  see.  He  said  he'd  bring  one.  Are  you 
alone?" 

"  I  don't  know.  It  feels  like  a  crowd  every  time 
I  cough.  Are  you  the  preacher?  " 

"  No,  I'm  the  bridegroom's  cousin.  We've  got  to 
get  in  through  a  window.  I  couldn't  find  my  key. 
Would  you  mind  giving  me  a  leg?  " 

"  A  leg?  Nothing  was  said  about  legs,"  said  the 
waiter,  moving  away.  Carpenter  laughed. 

"  I  mean  a  boost  up  to  the  window." 

"Oh!    Sure." 

"  There's  one  in  the  rear  I  can  smash.  We'll  get 
inside  and  light  up.  I  can  open  the  door  from  that 
side,  too.  Come  on — follow  me."  They  turned  the 
corner  and  followed  the  path  so  lately  taken  by  Win- 
domshire  and  Anne.  As  they  came  to  the  back  of  the 
church  they  were  startled  and  not  a  little  alarmed 
by  the  sound  of  sudden  scurrying  and  a  well-defined 
imprecation,  but  it  was  too  dark  for  them  to  dis- 
tinguish any  one.  While  they  were  trying  to  effect 
an  entrance  through  one  of  the  windows,  other 
mystified  participants  in  the  night's  affairs  were  look- 
ing on  from  secret  and  divers  hiding-places.  Far  out 
in  the  little  grove  Derby  and  his  old  companion 
watched  the  operations  of  the  church-breakers,  the 
sickly  glare  of  Carpenter's  lantern  as  it  stood  upon 


THE  FLYERS  149 

the  edge  of  the  rain  barrel  affording  an  unholy  light 
for  the  occasion.  Windomshire  and  Anne,  crouching 
behind  a  stack  of  old  benches,  looked  on  in  amaze- 
ment. Mr.  Hooker,  whose  conscience  was  none  too 
easy,  doubtless  for  excellent  reasons,  peered  forth 
from  behind  a  tall  tombstone.  He  had  arrived  at  the 
conclusion  that  he  was  being  hounded  down  as  a  body- 
snatcher. 

"  This  is  a  devil  of  a  mess,"  he  muttered  dolefully. 
"  If  they  catch  me  in  this  graveyard,  I'll  have  a  hard 
time  proving  an  alibi.  What  an  idiot  I  was  to  get 
into  this  thing !  I  guess  I'll  get  out  of  it.  He's  got 
plenty  of  witnesses  and  I've  got  his  ten  dollars."  He 
began  sneaking  off  toward  the  extreme  west  end  of 
the  graveyard,  bent  on  finding  the  road  to  town. 
"  Holy  smoke !  "  stopping  short.  "  Another  bunch 
of  them  coming !  I'm  surrounded !  "  He  dropped 
down  behind  a  weed-covered  mound  and  glared 
straight  ahead.  Almost  directly  in  his  path  a  lantern 
wobbled  and  reeled  slowly,  finally  bringing  its  bearer 
to  the  fence  between  the  burying-ground  and  the 
churchyard.  A  man  carried  the  light  and  half  carried 
the  form  of  a  woman  besides. 

"Brace  up,  Nell  dear,"  Mr.  Hooker  heard  the 
newcomer  say  as  tenderly  as  his  exertions  would 
allow.  "  The  worst  is  over.  Here's  the  church. 
Good  Heavens,  just  think  of  being  lost  in  a  grave- 
yard!" 

"And  climbing  four  fences  and  a  tree,"  moaned 
Eleanor  Thursdale.  They  had  come  up  through  the 
graveyard  by  mistake. 


150  THE  FLYERS 

"It  wasn't  a  tree;  it  was  a  fence  post.  Great 
Scot!  There's  no  light  in  the  church.  What's  up? 
Wait  here,  dear,  and  I'll  investigate." 

"  Alone?  Never!  "  she  cried.  They  climbed  their 
fifth  fence,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  a  gate  was 
near  at  hand. 

"  This  is  an  awful  pickle  I've  got  you  into.  You 
ought  to  hate  me — "  he  was  groaning,  but  she  checked 
him  nobly. 

"  Hush,  Joe,  I  love  it,"  she  cried. 

"  You  just  wait  and  see  how  happy  I'll  make  you 
for  this."  He  was  about  to  kiss  her  rapturously,  but 
the  act  was  stayed  by  the  sound  of  a  shrill  whistle, 
thrice  given.  "  There's  Jim  Carpenter  and  Derby," 
he  exclaimed,  and  whistled  in  response.  A  moment 
later  Derby  strolled  up  from  the  grove,  followed  by 
the  chattering  Mr.  Van  Truder. 

"  That  you,  Joe?  " 

"  Hello,  Darb.  Good!  Where's  Jim?"  Someone 
whistled  sharply  off  to  the  left,  and  then  Jim  Car- 
penter came  hurrying  up,  the  head-waiter  close  be- 
hind. 

"  Hello,  Joe.  Say,  has  either  of  you  been  cough- 
ing? "  demanded  Carpenter,  his  hair  ready  to  stand 
on  end. 

"  I  should  say  not,"  said  Joe.  "  I've  scarcely  been 
breathing." 

"  Then  some  ghost  is  having  a  hem'orrhage,"  said 
the  head-waiter,  dismally.  "Hello,  Mr.  ^Dauntless, 
are  you  a  witness  too?  " 

"  Say,  Joe,"  said  his  cousin,  quickly,  "  there's  some- 


THE  FLYERS  151 

thing  strange  going  on.  The  whole  place  is  full  of 
people.  I  went  back  there  to  open  a  window  and  at 
least  two  men  coughed — one  of  'em  sneezed.  We're 
being  watched.  This  man  says  he  heard  a  woman 
back  there,  and  I  saw  a  funny  kind  of  light  in  the 
graveyard." 

"  Hang  'em !  "  growled  Joe.  "  We  can't  stop  now. 
Open  up  the  church,  Jim." 

"Can't.  Lost  my  key.  Is  this  Miss  Thursdale? 
Glad  to  meet  you.  The  window's  the  only  way  and 
they're  surely  watching  back  there." 

"  Mamma  has  sent  the  officers  after  us,"  wailed 
Eleanor. 

"Let's  go  home,"  said  the  waiter.  "I  didn't 
agree  to  stay  out  all  night." 

"Agree?  Aha,  I  see.  You  are  a  spy!"  cried 
Joe. 

"A  spy?    I  guess  not.    I'm  a  witness." 

"  It's  the  same  thing,"  cackled  Mr.  Van  Truder. 
"  You're  a  spy  witness." 

"  Joe,  isn't  this  fellow  your  witness  ?  "  demanded 
Carpenter. 

"  I  should  say  not.    Mr.  Van  Truder  is  mine." 

"  By  George,  I  don't  understand — " 

"  Never  mind,  Jim,  break  into  the  church  and  let's 
have  it  over  with.  It's  going  to  rain  again." 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  tired,"  moaned  the  poor  bride,  mud- 
spattered,  wet,  and  very  far  from  being  the  spick  and 
span  young  woman  that  fashionable  society  knew 
and  loved. 

"  By  Jove ! "  came  suddenly  from  the  darkness, 


152  THE  FLYERS 

startling  the  entire  party — a  masculine  voice  full  of 
surprise  and — yes,  consternation.  Then  there  strode 
into  the  circle  of  light  a  tall  figure  in  a  shimmering 
mackintosh,  closely  followed  by  a  young,  resolute 
woman. 

"  Windomshire !  "  gasped  Dauntless,  leaping  in 
front  of  Eleanor,  prepared  to  defend  her  with  his  life. 

"  Miss  Courtenay,  too,"  murmured  Eleanor,  peek- 
ing under  his  arm. 

"  Yes,  by  Jove,"  announced  the  harassed  English- 
man, at  bay, — "  Windomshire  and  Miss  Courtenay." 
There  was  a  long  silence — a  tableau,  in  fact.  "  Well, 
why  doesn't  some  one  say  something?  You've  got  us, 
don't  you  know." 

Eleanor  Thursdale  was  the  first  to  find  words. 
She  was  faint  with  humiliation,  but  strong  with  the 
new  resolve.  Coming  forth  from  behind  Dauntless, 
she  presented  herself  before  the  man  her  mother  had 
chosen. 

"  So  you  have  found  me  out,  Mr.  Windomshire," 
she  said  pleadingly,  a  wry  little  smile  on  her  lips. 
"You  know  all  about  it?" 

"  I — er — by  Jove,  this  is  quite  beyond  me.  Found 
you  out?  My  word,  you  don't  mean  to  say — " 

"  I  say,  old  man,"  said  Dauntless,  manfully,  "  let 
me  explain.  We've  always  loved  each  other.  It  isn't 
that  she—" 

"  Hang  it  all,  man,  I  knew  that,"  expostulated 
Windomshire.  "  It  was  a  mistake  all  around.  I  love 
Anne,  don't  you  know.  There's  no  real  harm  done, 
I'm  sure.  But  what  puzzles  me  is  this :  why  does  Miss 


THE  FLYERS  153 

Thursdale  persist  in  pursuing  us  if  she  loves  you  and 
doesn't  care  to  marry  me?  " 

"The  deuce!  I  like  that,"  cried  Dauntless. 
"  You'd  better  begin  by  asking  questions  at  home." 

"  I  take  it,"  interposed  Mr.  Derby,  with  rare  tact 
and  discernment,  "  that  both  of  you  expect  to  be 
married,  but  not  to  each  other  as  originally  planned." 
Both  Eleanor  and  Windomshire  signified  eager 
affirmation  in  more  ways  than  one.  "  Then  it  seems 
to  me  a  simple  case  of  coincidence,  which  may  be  ex- 
plained later  on.  Why  discuss  it  now?  I  am  in 
reality  a  minister,  Miss  Courtenay,  and  I  am  here  to 
unite  Miss  Thursdale  and  Mr.  Dauntless  in  the  holy 
bonds  of  matrimony.  I  trust  we  may  expect  no  inter- 
ference on  the  part  of  Mr.  Windomshire?  " 

"Good  Lord!  No!"  almost  shouted  Windom- 
shire, clasping  Anne's  hand  in  a  mighty  grasp. 
"  That's  what  we  are  here  for  ourselves — to  be 
married — but  the  damned  parson  has  deceived  us." 

Jim  Carpenter  came  out  of  his  trance  at  this. 
"  Say,  are  you  the  fellow  Rev.  Smith  was  to  marry? 
Well,  he  won't  be  here.  There's  a  surprise  pound 
party  at  his  house  and  the  whole  town  is  there.  He 
couldn't  leave  to  save  his  soul.  It's  the  way  he  gets 
his  living." 

"  Oh,  Anne !  "  cried  Windomshire,  in  real  despair. 

Anne  slipped  into  the  breach  with  rare  old  English 
fortitude.  She  addressed  herself  sweetly  to  Mr. 
Derby. 

"  Mr.  Derby,  do  you  remember  saying  this  after- 
noon that  you'd  do  anything  in  the  world  for  me?  " 


154  THE  FLYERS 

Mr.  Derby  blushed  and  looked  most  unworthy  of  his 
calling,  but  managed  to  say  that  he  would  do  any- 
thing in  the  world  for  her.  "  Then,  please  take  the 
place  of  the  minister  who  couldn't  come." 

"  Good !  "  cried  Dauntless,  almost  dancing. 

"  I  will,  Miss  Courtenay,"  said  Derby.  Windom- 
shire  grasped  him  by  the  hand,  speechless  with  joy 
and  relief. 

"  I  don't  understand  all  this,"  complained  Mr.  Van 
Truder,  vainly  trying  to  see  the  excited,  jubilant 
quartette.  He  only  knew  that  they  were  all  talking 
at  once,  suddenly  without  restraint.  "  I  wish  my  wife 
were  here ;  she'd  understand." 

Jim  Carpenter  at  last  came  to  his  senses  and, 
dragging  the  head-waiter  after  him,  sped  to  the  rear 
of  the  church.  A  few  minutes  later  lights  flashed  in 
the  windows  and  then  the  front  door  swung  open. 
Carpenter  and  Gustave  stood  smiling  upon  the 
threshold. 

"  Enter !  "  called  out  the  former.  As  the  group 
quickly  passed  through  the  doorway,  a  long  figure 
^climbed  down  from  the  fence  hard  by  and  ventured  up 
to  the  portal.  It  was  Mr.  Hooker,  his  face  the 
picture  of  bewilderment. 

"Well,  this  beats  me!"  he  ejaculated,  leaning 
against  the  door  jamb;  none  of  those  at  the  altar 
heard  his  remark.  He  stood  there  listening  until  the 
last  words  of  the  service  which  united  two  couples 
were  uttered.  Then  he  turned  sorrowfully  away  and 
started  across  the  yard.  The  sound  of  a  wedding 
march  played  upon  the  wheezy  cabinet  organ  by  Jim 


THE  FLYERS  155 

Carpenter  followed  him  into  the  gloom;  above  the 
gasp  of  the  organ  was  lifted  the  unmistakable  chatter 
of  joyous  voices. 

As  he  passed  through  the  gate  a  great  vehicle 
rolled  up  and  stopped.  It  was  drawn  by  two  steam- 
ing horses,  and  the  waggon  lanterns  toid  him  that  it 
was  the  Somerset  Hotel  'bus.  "  I'll  ride  back  with 
'em,"  he  thought  comfortably. 

Some  one  climbed  down  from  the  rear  of  the  'bus> 
assisted  by  two  young  men  in  brass  buttons.  Mr. 
Hooker  made  way  for  a  corpulent,  puffing  old  lady. 
She  stopped  in  front  of  him  and  demanded  in  hot, 
strident  tones : 

"Where  is  my  husband?" 

"  Your  husband?  "  repeated  Mr.  Hooker,  politely. 
"  Madam,  you  can  search  me.  There's  a  whole 
churchful  of  husbands  up  there." 

"  You— you— "  she  sputtered.  "  Am  I  too  late? 
Support  me,  you  fools,"  she  cried  to  the  two  bell- 
boys. They  hurried  across  the  churchyard,  Mr. 
Hooker  following.  At  the  doorway  she  stopped,  glar- 
ing hard  at  the  well-lighted  interior.  "  Mr.  Van 
Truder !  Mr.  Van  Truder !  "  she  called  out  angrily, 
but  her  joyful  other  half  did  not  hear  her.  He  was 
trying  at  that  moment  to  organise  the  ccmpany  into 
a  wedding  procession. 

"  Say,"  said  Mr.  Hooker,  "  maybe  you'd  better 
cough  three  times." 


THE  PURPLE  PARASOL 


THE    PURPLE  PARASOL 


Young  Rossiter  did  not  like  the  task.  The  more 
he  thought  of  it  as  he  whirled  northward  on  the 
Empire  State  Express  the  more  distasteful  it  seemed 
to  grow. 

"Hang  it  all,"  he  thought,  throwing  down  his 
magazine  in  disgust,  "  it's  like  police  work.  And 
heaven  knows  I  haven't  wanted  to  be  a  cop  since  we 
lived  in  Newark  twenty  years  ago.  Why  the  dickens 
did  old  Wharton  marry  her?  He's  an  old  ass,  and 
he's  getting  just  what  he  might  have  expected.  She's 
twenty-five  and  beautiful;  he's  seventy  and  a  sight. 
I've  a  notion  to  chuck  the  whole  affair  and  go  back 
to  the  simple  but  virtuous  Tenderloin.  It's  not  my 
sort,  that's  all,  and  I  was  an  idiot  for  mixing  in  it. 
The  firm  served  me  a  shabby  trick  when  it  sent  me  out 
to  work  up  this  case  for  Wharton.  It's  a  regular 
Peeping  Tom  job,  and  I  don't  like  it." 

It  will  require  but  few  words  to  explain  Sam 
Rossiter's  presence  in  the  north-bound  Empire  Ex- 
press, but  it  would  take  volumes  to  express  his  feel- 
ings on  the  subject  in  general.  Back  in  New  York 
there  lived  Godfrey  Wharton,  millionaire  and 
157 


158  THE  PURPLE  PARASOL 

septuagenarian.  For  two  years  he  had  been  husband 
to  one  of  the  prettiest,  gayest  young  women  in  the 
city,  and  in  the  latter  days  of  this  responsibility  he 
was  not  a  happy  man.  His  wife  had  fallen  desper- 
ately, even  conspicuously,  in  love  with  Everett 
Havens,  the  new  leading  man  at  one  of  the  fashion- 
able playhouses.  The  affair  had  been  going  on  for 
weeks,  and  it  had  at  last  become  the  talk  of  the  town. 
By  "  the  town  "  is  meant  that  vague,  expansive  thing 
known  as  the  "  Four  Hundred."  Sam  Rossiter,  two 
years  out  of  Yale,  was  an  attachment  to,  but  not  a 
component  part  of,  the  Four  Hundred.  The 
Whartons  were  of  the  inner  circle. 

Young  Rossiter  was  ambitious.  He  was,  besides, 
keen,  aggressive,  and  determined  to  make  well  for  him- 
self. Entering  the  great  law  offices  of  G rover  & 
Dickhut  immediately  after  leaving  college,  he  devoted 
himself  assiduously  to  the  career  in  prospect.  He 
began  by  making  its  foundation  as  substantial  as 
brains  and  energy  would  permit.  So  earnest,  so  suc- 
cessful was  he  that  Grover  &  Dickhut  regarded  him 
as  the  most  promising  young  man  in  New  York. 
They  predicted  a  great  future  for  him,  no  small  part 
of  which  was  the  ultimate  alteration  of  an  office 
shingle,  the  name  of  Rossiter  going  up  in  gilt,  after 
that  of  Dickhut.  And,  above  all,  Rossiter  was  a 
handsome,  likable  chap.  Tall,  fair,  sunny-hearted, 
well  groomed,  he  was  a  fellow  that  both  sexes  liked 
without  much  effort. 

The  Wharton  trouble  was  bound  to  prove  startling 
any  way  one  looked  at  it.  The  prominence  of  the 


HELEN 


THE  PURPLE  PARASOL  159 

family,  the  baldness  of  its  skeleton,  and  the  gleeful 
eagerness  with  which  it  danced  into  full  view  left  but 
little  for  meddlers  to  covet.  A  crash  was  inevitable ; 
it  was  the  clash  that  Grover  &  Dickhut  were  trying 
to  avert.  Old  Wharton,  worn  to  a  slimmer  frazzle 
than  he  had  ever  been  before  his  luckless  marriage, 
was  determined  to  divorce  his  insolent  younger  half. 
It  was  to  be  done  with  as  little  noise  as  possible, 
more  for  his  own  sake  than  for  hers.  Wharton  was 
proud  in,  not  of,  his  weakness. 

It  became  necessary  to  "  shadow "  the  fair 
debutante  into  matrimony.  After  weeks  of  indecision 
Mr.  Wharton  finally  arose  and  swore  in  accents  ter- 
rible that  she  was  going  too  far  to  be  called  back. 
He  determined  to  push,  not  to  pull,  on  the  reins. 
Grover  &  Dickhut  were  commanded  to  get  the  "  evi- 
dence " ;  he  would  pay.  When  he  burst  in  upon  them 
and  cried  in  his  cracked  treble  that  "  the  devil's  to 
pay,"  he  did  not  mean  to  cast  any  aspersion  upon  the 
profession  in  general  or  particular.  He  was  annoyed. 

"  She's  going  away  next  week,"  he  exclaimed,  as  if 
the  lawyers  were  to  blame  for  it. 

"Well,  and  what  of  it?"  asked  Mr.  Grover 
blandly. 

"  Up  into  the  mountains,"  went  on  Mr.  Wharton 
triumphantly. 

"  Is  it  against  the  law?  "  smiled  the  old  lawyer. 

"  Confound  the  law!  I  don't  object  to  her  going 
up  into  the  mountains  for  a  rest,  but " 

"  It's  much  too  hot  in  town  for  her,  I  fancy." 

"  How's  that?  "  querulously.    "  But  I've  just  heard 


160  THE  PURPLE  PARASOL 

that  that  scoundrel  Havens  is  going  to  the  moun- 
tains also." 

"  The  same  mountain  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  I  have  absolute  proof  of  it.  Now, 
something  has  to  be  done !  " 

And  so  it  was  that  the  promising  young  lawyer, 
Samuel  W.  Rossiter,  Jr.,  was  sent  northward  into  the 
Adirondacks  one  hot  summer  day  with  instructions 
to  be  tactful  but  thorough.  He  had  never  seen  Mrs. 
Wharton,  nor  had  he  seen  Havens.  There  was  no 
time  to  look  up  these  rather  important  details,  for  he 
was  off  to  intercept  her  at  the  little  station  from 
which  one  drove  by  coach  to  the  quiet  summer  hotel 
among  the  clouds.  She  was  starting  the  same  after- 
noon. He  found  himself  wondering  whether  this 
petted  butterfly  of  fashion  had  ever  seen  him,  and, 
seeing  him,  had  been  sufficiently  interested  to  inquire, 
"  Who  is  that  tall  fellow  with  the  light  hair?  "  It 
would  be  difficult  to  perform  the  duties  assigned  to 
him  if  either  she  or  Havens  knew  him  for  what  he 
was.  His  pride  would  have  been  deeply  wounded  if 
he  had  known  that  Grover  &  Dickhut  recommended 
him  to  Wharton  as  "  obscure." 

"  They  say  she  is  a  howling  beauty  as  well  as  a 
swell,"  reflected  Rossiter,  as  the  miles  and  minutes 
went  swinging  by.  "And  that's  something  to  be 
thankful  for.  One  likes  novelty,  especially  if  it's 
feminine.  Well,  I'm  out  for  the  sole  purpose  of  sav- 
ing a  million  or  so  for  old  Wharton,  and  to  save  as 
much  of  her  reputation  as  I  can  besides.  With  the 
proof  in  hand  the  old  duffer  can  scare  her  out  of  any 


THE  PURPLE  PARASOL  161 

claim  against  his  bank  account,  and  she  shall  have 
the  absolute  promise  of  *  no  exposure '  in  return. 
Isn't  it  lovely?  Well,  here's  Albany.  Now  for  the 
dinky  road  up  to  Fossingford  Station.  I  have  an 
hour's  wait  here.  She's  coming  on  the  afternoon 
train  and  gets  to  Fossingford  at  eleven-ten  to-night. 
That's  a  dickens  of  a  time  for  a  young  woman  to  be 
arriving  anywhere,  to  say  nothing  of  Fossingford." 

Loafing  about  the  depot  at  Albany,  Rossiter  kept 
a  close  lookout  for  Mrs.  Wharton  as  he  pictured  her 
from  the  description  he  carried  in  his  mind's  eye. 
Her  venerable  husband  informed  him  that  she  was 
sure  to  wear  a  white  shirt-waist,  a  gray  skirt,  and  a 
Knox  sailor  hat,  because  her  maid  had  told  him  so  in 
a  huff.  But  he  was  to  identify  her  chiefly  by  means 
of  a  handsome  and  oddly  trimmed  parasol  of  deep 
purple.  Wharton  had  every  reason  to  suspect  that 
it  was  a  present  from  Havens,  and  therefore  to  be 
carried  more  for  sentiment  than  protection. 

A  telegram  awaited  him  at  Fossingford  Station. 
Fossingford  was  so  small  and  unsophisticated  that 
the  arrival  of  a  telegraphic  message  that  did  not 
relate  to  the  movement  of  railroad  trains  was  an 
"  occasion."  Everybody  in  town  knew  that  a  message 
had  come  for  Samuel  Rossiter,  and  everybody  was  at 
the  depot  to  see  that  he  got  it.  The  station  agent 
had  inquired  at  the  "  eating-house  "  for  the  gentle- 
man, and  that  was  enough.  With  the  eyes  of  a 
Fossingford  score  or  two  upon  him,  Rossiter  read  the 
despatch  from  Grover  &  Dickhut. 

"Too  bad,  ain't  it?"  asked  the  agent,  compas- 


162  THE  PURPLE  PARASOL 

sionately  regarding  the  newcomer.     Evidently  the 
contents  were  supposed  to  be  disappointing. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  replied  Rossiter  easily.  But 
just  the  same  he  was  troubled  in  mind  as  he  walked 
over  and  sat  down  upon  his  steamer  trunk  in  the 
shade  of  the  building.  The  telegram  read: 

"She  left  New  York  five-thirty  this  evening. 
Stops  over  night  Albany.  Fossingford  to-morrow 
morning.  Watch  trains.  Purple  parasol.  Sailor 
hat.  Gray  travelling  suit. 

«  G.  and  D." 

It  meant  that  he  would  be  obliged  to  stay  in 
Fossingford  all  night — but  where?  A  general  but 
comprehensive  glance  did  not  reveal  anything  that 
looked  like  a  hotel.  He  thought  of  going  back  to 
Albany  for  the  night,  but  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him 
that  she  might  not  stop  in  that  city,  after  all.  Pull- 
ing his  wits  together,  he  saw  things  with  a  new  clear- 
ness of  vision.  Ostensibly  she  had  announced  her  in- 
tention to  spend  the  month  at  Eagle  Nest,  an  ob- 
scure but  delightful  hotel  in  the  hills;  but  did  that 
really  mean  that  she  would  go  there?  It  was  doubt- 
less a  ruse  to  throw  the  husband  off  the  track.  There 
were  scores  of  places  in  the  mountains,  and  it  was 
more  than  probable  that  she  would  give  Eagle  Nest 
a  wide  berth.  Rossiter  patted  his  bump  of  perceptive- 
ness  and  smiled  serenely  until  he  came  plump  up 
against  the  realization  that  she  might  not  come  by 
way  of  Fossingford  at  all,  or,  in  any  event,  she  might 


THE  PURPLE  PARASOL  163 

go  whisking  through  to  some  station  farther  north. 
His  speculations  came  to  an  end  in  the  shape  of  a 
distressing  resolution.  He  would  remain  in  Fossing- 
ford  and  watch  the  trains  go  by! 

After  he  had  dashed  through  several  early  even- 
ing trains,  the  cheerful,  philosophical  smile  of  courage 
left  his  face  and  trouble  stared  from  his  eyes.  He 
saw  awkward  prospects  ahead.  Suppose  she  were  to 
pass  through  on  one  of  the  late  night  trains!  He 
could  not  rush  through  the  sleepers,  even  though  the 
trains  stopped  in  Fossingford  for  water.  Besides, 
she  could  not  be  identified  by  means  of  a  gray  suit,  a 
sailor  hat,  and  a  purple  parasol  if  they  were  tucked 
away  in  the  berth.  At  eleven  o'clock  he  was  pacing 
the  little  depot  platform,  waiting  for  the  eleven-ten 
train,  the  last  he  was  to  inspect  for  the  night.  He 
had  eaten  a  scanty  meal  at  the  restaurant  nearby, 
and  was  still  mad  about  it.  The  station  agent  slept 
soundly  at  his  post,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  town  had 
gone  to  bed. 

The  train  pulled  in  and  out  again,  leaving  him  at 
the  far  end  of  the  platform,  mopping  his  harassed 
brow.  He  had  visited  the  chair-cars  and  had  seen 
no  one  answering  the  description.  A  half-dozen  pas- 
sengers huddled  off  and  wandered  away  in  the  dark- 
ness. 

"  I'll  bet  my  head  she's  in  one  of  those  sleepers," 
he  groaned,  as  he  watched  the  lights  on  the  rear 
coach  fade  away  into  the  night.  "It's  all  off  till 
to-morrow,  that's  settled.  My  only  hope  is  that  she 
really  stopped  in  Albany.  There's  a  train  through 


164  THE  PURPLE  PARASOL 

here  at  three  in  the  morning;  but  I'm  not  detective 
enough  to  unravel  the  mystery  of  any  woman's  berth. 
Now,  where  the  deuce  am  /  to  sleep  ?  " 

As  he  looked  about  dismally,  disconsolately,  his 
hands  deep  in  his  pockets,  his  straw  hat  pulled  low 
over  his  sleepy  eyes,  the  station  agent  came  up  to  him 
with  a  knowing  grin  on  his  face. 

"  'Scuse  me,  boss,  but  she's  come,"  he  said,  wink- 
ing. 

"She?    Who?" 

"Her.  The  young  lady.  Sure!  She's  lookin' fer 
you  over  in  the  waitin'-room.  You  mus'  'a'  missed 
her  when  she  got  off — thought  she  wasn't  comin'  up 
till  to-morrer.  Mus'  'a'  changed  her  mind.  That's 
a  woming  all  over,  ain't  it?  " 

Rossiter  felt  himself  turn  hot  and  cold.  His  head 
began  to  whirl  and  his  courage  went  fluttering  away. 
Here  was  a  queer  complication.  The  quarry  hunting 
for  the  sleuth,  instead  of  the  reverse.  He  fanned 
himself  with  his  hat  for  one  brief,  uncertain  moment, 
dazed  beyond  belief.  Then  he  resolutely  strode  over 
to  face  the  situation,  trusting  to  luck  to  keep  him 
from  blundering  his  game  into  her  hands.  Just  as 
he  was  about  to  put  his  foot  upon  the  lamp-lit  door- 
sill  the  solution  struck  him  like  a  blow.  She  was  ex- 
pecting Havens  to  meet  her ! 

There  was  but  one  woman  in  the  room,  and  she 
was  approaching  the  door  with  evident  impatience 
as  he  entered.  Both  stopped  short,  she  with  a  look 
of  surprise,  which  changed  to  annoyance  and  then 
crept  into  an  nervous,  apologetic  little  smile ;  he  with 


THE  PURPLE  PARASOL  165 

an  unsuppressed  ejaculation.  She  wore  a  gray  skirt, 
a  white  waist,  and  a  sailor  hat,  and  she  was  surpass- 
ingly good  to  look  at  even  in  the  trying  light  from 
the  overhead  lamp.  Instinctively  his  eye  swept  over 
her.  She  carried  on  her  arm  the  light  gray  jacket, 
and  in  one  hand  was  the  tightly  rolled  parasol  of — 
he  impertinently  craned  his  neck  to  see — of  purple! 
Mr.  Rossiter  was  face  to  face  with  the  woman  he  was 
to  dog  for  a  month,  and  he  was  flabbergasted.  Even 
as  he  stopped,  puzzled,  before  her,  contemplating 
retreat,  she  spoke  to  him. 

"  Did  that  man  send  you  to  me?  "  she  asked  nerv- 
ously, looking  through  the  door  beyond  and  then 
through  a  window  at  his  right,  quite  puzzled,  he 
could  see. 

"  He  did,  and  I  was  sure  he  was  mistaken.  I  knew 
of  no  one  in  this  Godforsaken  place  who  could  be 
asking  for  me,"  said  he,  collecting  his  wits  carefully 
and  herding  them  into  that  one  sentence.  "  But 
perhaps  I  can  help  you.  Will  you  tell  me  whom  I 
am  to  look  for?" 

"It  is  strange  he  is  not  here,"  she  said  a  little 
breathlessly.  "  I  wired  him  just  what  train  to  ex- 
pect me  on." 

"Your  husband?"  ventured  he  admirably* 

"  Oh,  dear,  no !  "  said  she  quickly. 

"  I  wish  she'd  wired  me  what  train  to  expect  her 
on,"  thought  he  grimly.  "  She  doesn't  know  me. 
That's  good.  She  was  expecting  Havens  and  he's 
missed  connections  somehow,"  shot  rapidly  through 
his  brain.  At  the  same  time  he  was  thinking  of  her 


166  THE  PURPLE  PARASOL 

as  the  prettiest  woman  he  had  seen  in  all  his  life. 
Then  aloud:  "I'll  look  on  the  platform.  Maybe 
he's  lost  in  this  great  city.  What  name  shall  I  call 
out?" 

"  Please  don't  call  very  loudly.  You'll  wake  the 
dead,"  she  said,  with  a  pathetic  smile.  "  It's  awfully 
good  of  you.  He  may  come  at  any  minute,  you 
know.  His  name  is — is  " — she  hesitated  for  a  second, 
and  then  went  on  determinedly — "  Dudley.  Tall, 
dark  man.  I  don't  know  how  I  shall  thank  you. 
It's  so  very  awkward." 

Rossiter  darted  from  her  glorious  but  perplexed 
presence.  He  had  never  seen  Havens,  but  he  was 
sure  he  could  recognize  an  actor  if  he  saw  him  in  Fos- 
singford.  And  he  would  call  him  Dudley,  too.  It 
would  be  wise.  The  search  was  fruitless.  The  only 
tall,  dark  object  he  saw  was  the  mailcrane  at  the  edge 
of  the  platform,  but  he  facetiously  asked  if  its  name 
was  Dudley.  Receiving  no  answer,  he  turned  back 
to  cast  additional  woe  into  the  heart  of  the  pretty 
intriguer.  She  was  standing  in  the  door,  despair 
in  her  eyes.  Somehow  he  was  pleased  because  he 
had  not  found  the  wretch.  She  was  so  fair  to  look 
upon  and  so  appealing  in  her  distress. 

"  You  couldn't  find  him?  What  am  I  to  do?  Oh, 
isn't  it  awful?  He  promised  to  be  here." 

"  Perhaps  he's  at  a  hotel." 

"  In  Fossingford?  "  in  deep  disgust.  "  There's  no 
hotel  here.  He  was  to  drive  me  to  the  home  of  a 
friend  out  in  the  country."  Rossiter  leaned  against 
the  wall  suddenly.  There  was  a  long  silence.  He 


THE  PURPLE  PARASOL  167 

could  not  find  his  tongue,  but  his  eyes  were  burning 
'  deep  into  the  plaintive  blue  ones  that  looked  up  into 
his  face. 

"  I'll  ask  the  agent,"  he  said  at  last. 

"  Ask  him  what  ?  "  she  cried  anxiously. 

"  If  he's  been  here.  No,  I'll  ask  if  there's  a  place 
where  you  can  sleep  to-night.  Mr.  Dudley  will  surely 
turn  up  to-morrow." 

"  But  I  couldn't  sleep  a  wink.  I  feel  like  crying  my 
eyes  out,"  she  wailed. 

"  Don't  do  that !  "  exclaimed  he,  in  alarm.  "  I'll 
take  another  look  outside." 

"  Please  don't.  He  is  not  here.  Will  you  please 
tell  me  what  I  am  to  do?  " — very  much  as  if  it  was 
his  business  to  provide  for  her  in  the  hour  of  need. 

Rossiter  promptly  awoke  the  agent  and  asked 
him  where  a  room  could  be  procured  for  the  lady. 
Doxie's  boarding-house  was  the  only  place,  accord- 
ing to  the  agent,  and  it  was  full  to  overflowing.  Be- 
sides, they  would  not  "  take  in  "  strange  women. 

"  She  can  sleep  here  in  the  waiting-room,"  sug- 
gested the  agent.  "  They'll  let  you  sleep  in  the  parlor 
over  at  Doxie's,  mister — maybe." 

Rossiter  did  not  have  the  heart  to  tell  her  all  that 
the  agent  said.  He  merely  announced  that  there  was 
no  hotel  except  the  depot  waiting-room. 

"  By  the  way,  does  Mr.  Dudley  live  out  in  the 
country?  "  he  asked  insidiously.  She  flushed  and 
then  looked  at  him  narrowly. 

"  No.    He's  visiting  his  uncle  up  here." 

"  Funny  he  missed  you." 


168  THE  PURPLE  PARASOL 

"It's  terribly  annoying,"  she  said  coldly.  Then 
she  walked  away  from  him  as  if  suddenly  conscious 
that  she  should  not  be  conversing  with  a  good-looking 
stranger  as  such  a  time  and  place  and  under  such 
peculiar  circumstances.  He  withdrew  to  the  plat- 
form and  his  own  reflections. 

"  He's  an  infernal  cad  for  not  meeting  her,"  he 
found  himself  saying,  her  pretty,  distressed  face  still 
before  him.  "  I  don't  care  a  rap  whether  she's  doing 
right  or  wrong — she's  game.  Still,  she's  a  blamed 
little  fool  to  be  travelling  up  here  on  such  an  out- 
landish train.  So  he's  visiting  an  uncle,  eh?  Then 
the  chances  are  they're  not  going  to  Eagle  Nest. 
Lucky  I  waited  here — I'd  have  lost  them  entirely 
if  I'd  gone  back  to  Albany.  But  where  the  deuce  is 
she  to  sleep  till  morn — "  He  heard  rapid  footsteps 
behind  him  and  turned  to  distinguish  Mrs.  Wharton 
as  she  approached  dimly  but  gracefully.  The  air 
seemed  full  of  her. 

"  Oh,  Mr. — Mr. — "  she  was  saying  eagerly. 

"  Rollins." 

"  Isn't  there  a  later  train,  Mr.  Rollins?  " 

"  I'll  ask  the  agent." 

"  There's  the  flyer  at  three-thirty  A.  M.,"  responded 
the  sleepy  agent  a  minute  later. 

'*  I'll  just  sit  up  and  wait  for  it,"  she  said  coolly. 
"  He  has  got  the  trains  confused." 

"  Good  heavens !    Till  three-thirty?  " 

"  But  my  dear  Mr.  Rollins,  you  won't  be  obliged 
to  sit  up,  you  know.  You're  not  expecting  any  one, 
are  you  ? " 


THE  PURPLE  PARASOL  169 

"  N-no,  of  course  not." 

"By  the  way,  why  are  you  staying  up?"  He 
was  sure  he  detected  alarm  in  the  question.  She 
was  suspecting  him! 

"  I  have  nowhere  to  go,  Miss — Mrs. — er — "  She 
merely  smiled  and  he  said  something  under  his  breath. 
"  I'm  waiting  for  the  eight  o'clock  train." 

"How  lovely!  What  time  will  the  three-thirty 
train  get  here,  agent  ?  " 

"At  half-past  three,  I  reckon.  But  she  don't 
stop  here !  " 

"  Oh,  goodness  !    Can't  you  flag  it — her,  I  mean  ?  " 

"What's  the  use?"  asked  Rossiter.  "He's  not 
coming  on  it,  is  he?  " 

"  That's  so.  He's  coming  in  a  buggy.  You  needn't 
mind  flagging  her,  agent." 

"  Well,  say,  I'd  like  to  lock  up  the  place,"  grum- 
bled the  agent.  "  There's  no  more  trains  to-night 
but  Number  Seventeen,  and  she  don't  even  whistle 
here.  I  can't  set  up  here  all  night." 

"  Oh,  you  wouldn't  lock  me  out  in  the  night,  would 
you?"  she  cried  in  such  pretty  despair  that  he 
faltered. 

"  I  got  to  git  home  to  my  wife.     She's " 

"That's  all  right,  agent,"  broke  in  Rossiter 
hastily.  "  I'll  take  your  place  as  agent.  Leave  the 
doors  open  and  I'll  go  on  watch.  I  have  to  stay  up 
anyway." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  He  did  not  know  whether 
she  was  freezing  or  warming  toward  him,  because  he 
dared  not  look  into  her  eyes. 


170  THE  PURPLE  PARASOL 

"  I  don't  know  who  you  are,"  she  said  distinctly 
but  plaintively.  It  was  very  dark  out  there  on  the 
platform  and  the  night  air  was  growing  cold. 

"  It  is  the  misfortune  of  obscurity,"  he  said  mock- 
ingly. "  I  am  a  most  humble  wayfarer  on  his  way 
to  the  high  hills.  If  it  will  make  you  feel  any  more 
comfortable,  madam,  I  will  say  that  I  don't  know 
who  you  are.  So,  you  see,  we  are  in  the  same  boat. 
You  are  waiting  for  a  man  and  I  am  waiting  for  day- 
light. I  sincerely  trust  you  may  not  hare  as  long  to 
wait  as  I.  Believe  me,  I  regard  myself  as  a  gentle- 
man. You  are  quite  as  safe  with  me  as  you  will  be 
with  the  agent,  or  with  Mr. — Mr.  Dudley,  for  that 
matter." 

"You  may  go  home  to  your  wife,  Mr.  Agent," 
she  said  promptly.  "  Mr.  Rollins  will  let  the  trains 
through,  I'm  sure." 

The  agent  stalked  away  in  the  night  and  the 
diminutive  station  was  left  to  the  mercy  of  the  way- 
farers. 

"  And  now,  Mr.  Rollins,  you  may  go  over  in  that 
corner  and  stretch  out  on  the  bench.  It  will  be 
springless,  I  know,  but  I  fancy  you  can  sleep.  I 
will  call  you  for  the — for  breakfast." 

"  I'm  hanged  if  you  do.  On  the  contrary,  I'm 
going  to  do  my  best  to  fix  a  comfortable  place  for 
you  to  take  a  nap.  I'll  call  you  when  Mr.  Dudley 
comes." 

"  It's  most  provoking  of  him,"  she  said,  as  he  began 
rummaging  through  his  steamer  trunk.  "  What  are 
you  doing?  " 


THE  PURPLE  PARASOL  171 

"  Hunting  out  something  to  make  over  into  a  mat- 
tress. You  don't  mind  napping  on  my  clothes,  do 
you?  Here's  a  soft  suit  of  flannels,  a  heavy  suit 
of  cheviot,  a  dress  suit,  a  spring  coat,  and  a  rain- 
coat. I  can  rig  up  a  downy  couch  in  no  time  if " 

"  Ridiculous !  Do  you  imagine  that  I'm  going  to 
sleep  on  your  best  clothes?  I'm  going  to  sit  up." 

"  You'll  have  to  do  as  I  say,  madam,  or  be  turned 
out  of  the  hotel,"  said  he,  with  an  infectious  grin. 

"  But  I  insist  upon  your  lying  down.  You  have 
no  reason  for  doing  this  for  me.  Besides,  I'm  going 
to  sit  up.  Good-night !  " 

"  You  are  tired  and  ready  to  cry,"  he  said,  calmly 
going  on  with  his  preparations.  She  stood  off  de- 
fiantly and  watched  him  pile  his  best  clothes  into  a 
rather  comfortable-looking  heap  on  one  of  the  long 
benches.  "  Now,  if  you  don't  mind,  I'll  make  a  pillow 
of  these  negligee  shirts.  They're  soft,  you  know." 

"  Stop !  I  refuse  to  accept  your — "  she  was  pro- 
testing. 

"  Do  Jfou  want  me  to  leave  you  here  all  alone?  " 
he  demanded.  "  With  the  country  full  of  tramps 
and " 

"  Don't !  It's  cowardly  of  you  to  frighten  me. 
They  say  the  railroads  are  swarming  with  tramps, 
too.  Won't  you  please  go  and  see  if  Mr.  Dudley  is 
anywhere  in  sight?  " 

"  It  was  mean  of  me,  I  confess.  Please  lie  down. 
It's  getting  cold.  Pull  this  raincoat  over  yourself. 
I'll  walk  out  and " 

"  Oh,  but  you  are  a  determined  person.    And  very 


172  THE  PURPLE  PARASOL 

foolish,  too.  Why  should  you  lose  a  lot  of  sleep 
just  for  me  when ?  " 

"There  is  no  reason  why  two  men  should  fail 
you  to-night,  Mrs. — Miss " 

"  Miss  Bering,"  she  said,  humbled. 

"  When  you  choose  to  retire,  Miss  Bering,  you  will 
find  your  room  quite  ready,  he  said  with  fine  gal- 
lantry, bowing  low  as  he  stood  in  the  doorway.  "  I 
will  be  just  outside  on  the  platform,  so  don't  be  un- 
easy." 

He  quickly  faded  into  the  night,  leaving  her  stand- 
ing there,  petulant,  furious,  yet  with  admiration  in 
her  eyes.  Ten  minutes  later  he  heard  her  call.  She 
was  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  improvised  couch, 
smiling  sweetly,  even  timidly. 

"  It  must  be  cold  out  there.  You  must  wear 
this." 

She  came  toward  him,  the  raincoat  in  one  hand, 
the  purple  parasol  in  the  other.  He  took  the  parasol 
only  and  departed  without  a  word.  She  gasped  and 
would  have  called  after  him,  but  there  was  no  use. 
With  a  perplexed  frown  and  smile  she  went  slowly, 
dubiously  toward  the  folded  bed. 

Rossiter  smoked  three  cigars  and  walked  two  miles 
up  and  down  the  platform,  swinging  the  parasol 
absent-mindedly,  before  he  ventured  to  look  inside 
the  room  again.  In  that  time  he  had  asked  and 
answered  many  questions  in  his  mind.  He  saw  that 
it  would  be  necessary  to  change  his  plans  if  he  was 
to  watch  her  successfully.  She  evidently  gave  out 
Eagle  Nest  to  blind  her  husband.  Somehow  he  was 


THE  PURPLE  PARASOL  173 

forgetting  that  the  task  before  him  was  disagreeable 
and  undignified.  What  troubled  him  most  was  how 
to  follow  them  if  Havens — or  Dudley — put  in  an 
appearance  for  the  three-thirty  train.  He  began 
to  curse  Everett  Havens  softly  but  potently. 

When  he  looked  into  the  waiting-room  she  was 
sound  asleep  on  the  bench.  It  delighted  him  to  see 
that  she  had  taken  him  at  his  word  and  was  lying 
upon  his  clothes.  Cautiously  he  took  a  seat  on  the 
door-sill.  The  night  was  as  still  as  death  and  as 
lonesome  as  the  grave.  For  half  an  hour  he  sat 
gazing  upon  the  tired,  pretty  face  and  the  lithe 
young  figure  of  the  sleeper.  He  found  himself  dream- 
ing, although  he  was  wide  awake — never  more  so.  It 
occurred  to  him  that  he  would  be  immensely  pleased  to 
hear  that  Havens's  reason  for  failing  her  was  due  to 
an  accident  in  which  he  had  been  killed. 

"  Those  clothes  will  have  to  be  pressed  the  first 
thing  to-morrow,"  he  said  to  himself,  but  without  a 
trace  of  annoyance.  "  Hang  it  all,  she  doesn't  look 
like  that  sort  of  woman,"  his  mind  switched.  "  But 
just  think  of  being  tied  up  to  an  old  crocodile  like 
Wharton !  Gee !  One  oughtn't  to  blame  her!  " 

Then  he  went  forth  into  the  night  once  more  and 
listened  for  the  sound  of  buggy  wheels.  It  was  al- 
most time  for  the  arrival  of  the  belated  man  from 
the  country,  and  he  was  beginning  to  pray  that  he 
would  not  appear  at  all.  It  came  to  his  mind  that 
he  should  advise  her  to  return  to  New  York  in  the 
morning.  At  last  his  watch  told  him  that  the  train 
was  due  to  pass  in  five  minutes.  And  still  no  buggy ! 


174.  THE  PURPLE  PARASOL 

Good!  He  felt  an  exhilaration  that  threatened  to 
break  into  song. 

Softly  he  stole  back  into  the  waiting-room,  pre- 
pared to  awaken  her  before  the  train  shot  by.  Some- 
thing told  him  that  the  rumble  and  roar  would  terrify 
her  if  she  were  asleep.  Going  quite  close  to  her  he 
bent  forward  and  looked  long  and  sadly  upon  the 
perfect  face.  Her  hair  was  somewhat  disarranged, 
her  hat  had  a  very  hopeless  tilt,  her  lashes  swept 
low  over  the  smooth  cheek,  but  there  was  an  almost 
imperceptible  choke  in  her  breathing.  In  her  small 
white  hand  she  clasped  a  handkerchief  tightly,  and 
— yes,  he  was  sure  of  it — there  were  tear-stains 
beneath  her  lashes.  There  came  to  him  the  faint  sob 
which  lingers  long  in  the  breath  of  one  who  has  cried 
herself  to  sleep.  The  spy  passed  his  hand  over  his 
brow,  sighed,  shook  his  head  and  turned  away  irre- 
solutely. He  remembered  that  she  was  waiting  for 
a  man  who  was  not  her  husband. 

Far  down  the  track  a  bright  star  came  shooting  to- 
ward Fossingford.  He  knew  it  to  be  the  headlight 
of  the  flyer.  With  a  breath  of  relief  he  saw  that  he 
was  the  only  human  being  on  the  platform.  Havens 
had  failed  again.  This  time  he  approached  the  re- 
cumbent one  determinedly.  She  was  awake  the  in- 
stant he  touched  her  shoulder. 

"  Oh,"  she  murmured,  sitting  erect  and  looking 
about,  bewildered.  "  Is  it — has  he — oh,  you  are  still 
here?  Has  he  come?  " 

"No,  Miss  Bering,  he  is  not  here,"  and  added, 


THE  PURPLE  PARASOL  175 

under  his  breath,  "  damn  him !  "  Then  aloud,  "  The 
train  is  coming." 

"And  he  didn't  come?"  she  almost  wailed. 

"  I  fancy  you'd  better  try  to  sleep  until  morning. 
There's  nothing  to  stay  awake  for,"  although  it  came 
with  a  pang. 

"Absolutely  nothing,"  she  murmured,  and  his 
pride  took  a  respectful  tumble.  As  she  began  to  re- 
arrange her  hair,  rather  clumsily  spoiling  a  charm- 
ing effect,  he  remonstrated. 

"  Don't  bother  about  your  hair."  She  looked  at 
him  in  wonder  for  an  instant,  a  little  smile  finally 
creeping  to  her  lips.  He  felt  that  she  understood 
something.  "  Maybe  he'll  come  after  all,"  he  added 
quickly. 

"  What  are  you  doing  with  my  parasol?  "  she 
asked  sleepily. 

"  I'm  carrying  it  to  establish  your  identity  with 
Dudley  if  he  happens  to  come.  He'll  recognize  the 
purple  parasol,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  she  said  dubiously.  "  He  gave  it  to 
me  for  a  birthday  present." 

"  I  knew  it,"  he  muttered. 

"What?" 

"  I  mean  I  knew  he'd  recognize  it,"  he  explained. 

The  flyer  shot  through  Fossingford  at  that  junc- 
ture, a  long  line  of  roaring  shadows.  There  was 
silence  between  them  until  the  rumble  was  lost  in  the 
distance. 

"  If  you  don't  mind,  I'd  like  to  go  out  on  the  plat- 
form for  awhile,"  she  said  finally,  resignation  in  her 


176  THE  PURPLE  PARASOL 

eyes.  "  Perhaps  he's  out  there,  wondering  why  the 
train  didn't  stop." 

"  It's  cold  out  there.  Just  slip  into  my  coat,  Miss 
Dering."  He  held  the  raincoat  for  her,  and  she 
mechanically  slipped  her  arms  into  the  sleeves.  She 
shivered,  but  smiled  sweetly  up  at  him. 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Rollins,  you  are  very  thought- 
ful and  very  kind  to  me." 

They  walked  out  into  the  darkness.  After  a  turn 
or  two  in  silence  she  took  the  arm  he  proffered.  He 
admired  the  bravery  with  which  she  was  trying  to  con- 
vince him  that  she  was  not  so  bitterly  disappointed. 
When  she  finally  spoke  her  voice  was  soft  and  cool, 
just  as  a  woman's  always  is  before  the  break. 

"  He  was  to  have  taken  me  to  his  uncle's  house, 
six  miles  up  in  the  country.  His  aunt  and  a  young 
lady  from  the  South,  with  Mr.  Dudley  and  me,  are 
to  go  to  Eagle  Nest  to-morrow  for  a  month." 

"  How  very  odd,"  he  said  with  well-assumed  sur- 
prise. "  I,  too,  am  going  to  Eagle  Nest  for  a  month 
or  so." 

She  stopped  stock-still,  and  he  could  feel  that  she 
was  staring  at  him  hardly. 

"  You  are  going  there  ?  "  she  half  whispered. 

"They  say  it  is  a  quiet,  restful  place,"  he  said. 
"  One  reaches  it  by  stage  overland,  I  believe."  She 
was  strangely  silent  during  the  remainder  of  the 
walk.  Somehow  he  felt  amazingly  sorry  for  her. 
"  I  hope  I  may  see  something  of  you  while  we  are 
there,"  he  said  at  last. 

"I  imagine  I  couldn't  help  it  if  I  were  to  try," 


THE  PURPLE  PARASOL  177 

she  said.  They  were  in  the  path  of  the  light  from 
the  window,  and  he  saw  the  strange  little  smile  on 
her  face.  "  I  think  I'll  lie  down  again.  Won't  you 
find  a  place  to  sleep,  Mr.  Rollins?  I  can't  bear  the 
thought  of  depriving  you — " 

"  I  am  the  slave  of  your  darkness,"  he  said  gravely. 

She  left  him,  and  he  lit  another  cigar.  Daylight 
came  at  last  to  break  up  his  thoughts,  and  then 
his  tired  eyes  began  to  look  for  the  man  and  buggy. 
Fatigued  and  weary,  he  sat  upon  his  steamer  trunk, 
his  back  to  the  wall.  There  he  fell  sound  asleep. 

He  was  awakened  by  some  one  shaking  him  gently 
by  the  shoulder. 

"  You  are  a  very  sound  sleeper,  Mr.  Rollins,"  said 
a  familiar  voice,  but  it  was  gay  and  sprightly.  He 
looked  up  blankly,  and  it  was  a  full  half-minute 
before  he  could  get  his  bearings. 

A  young  woman  with  a  purple  parasol  stood  be- 
side him,  laughing  merrily,  and  at  her  side  was  a 
tall,  dark,  very  good-looking  young  man. 

"  I  couldn't  go  without  saying  good-by  to  you, 
Mr.  Rollins,  and  thanking  you  again  for  the  care  you 
have  taken  of  me,"  she  was  saying.  He  finally  saw 
the  little  gloved  hand  that  was  extended  toward  him. 
Her  companion  was  carrying  her  jacket  and  the  little 
travelling-bag. 

"  Oh — er — good-by,  and  don't  mention  it,"  he 
stammered,  struggling  to  his  feet.  "  Was  I  asleep  ?  " 

"  Asleep  at  your  post,  sir.  Mr.  Dudley — oh,  this 
is  Mr.  Dudley,  Mr.  Rollins — came  in  ten  minutes 
ago  and  found — us — both — asleep." 


178  THE  PURPLE  PARASOL 

"  Isn't  it  lucky  Mr.  Dudley  happens  to  be  an  honest 
man?  "  said  Rossiter,  in  a  manner  so  strange  that 
the  smile  froze  on  the  face  of  the  other  man.  The 
unhappy  barrister  caught  the  quick  glance  that 
passed  between  them,  and  was  vaguely  convinced 
that  they  had  been  discussing  him  while  he  slept. 
Something  whispered  to  him  that  they  had  guessed 
the  nature  of  his  business. 

"  My  telegram  was  not  delivered  to  him  until  this 
morning.  Wasn't  it  provoking?  "  she  was  saying. 

"  What  time  is  it  now?  "  asked  Rossiter. 

"  Half-past  seven,"  responded  Dudley  rather 
sharply.  His  black  eyes  were  fastened  steadily  upon 
those  of  the  questioner.  "  Mr.  Van  Haltford's  man 
came  in  and  got  Miss  Dering's  telegram  yesterday, 
but  it  was  not  delivered  to  me  until  a  neighbor  came 
to  the  house  with  both  the  message  and  messenger 
in  charge.  Joseph  had  drunk  all  the  whisky  in  Fos- 
singford. 

"  Then  there's  no  chance  for  me  to  get  a  drink, 
I  suppose,"  said  Rossiter  with  a  wry  smile. 

"Do  you  need  one?"  asked  Miss  Dering  saucily. 

"  I  have  a  headache." 

"A  pick-me-up  is  what  you  want,"  said  Dudley 
coldly. 

"My  dear  sir,  I  haven't  been  drunk,"  remon- 
strated Rossiter  sharply.  His  hearers  laughed  and 
he  turned  red  but  cold  with  resentment. 

"  See,  Mr.  Rollins,  I  have  smoothed  out  your 
clothes  and  folded  them,"  she  said,  pointing  to  her 
one-time  couch.  "I  couldn't  pack  them  in  your 


THE  PURPLE  PARASOL  179 

trunk  because  you  were  sitting  on  it.  Shall  I  help 
you  now?  " 

"No,  I  thank  you,"  he  said  ungraciously.  "I 
can  toss  'em  in  any  old  way." 

He  set  about  doing  it  without  another  word.  His 
companions  stood  over  near  the  window  and  con- 
versed earnestly  in  words  too  low  for  him  to  distin- 
guish. From  the  corner  of  his  eye  he  could  see  that 
Dudley's  face  was  hard  and  uncompromising,  while 
hers  was  eager  and  imploring.  The  man  was  stub- 
bornly objecting  to  something,  and  she  was  just 
as  decided  in  an  opposite  direction. 

"  He's  finding  fault  and  she's  trying  to  square 
it  with  him.  Oh,  my  beauties,  you'll  have  a  hard 
time  to  shake  off  one  Samuel  Rossiter.  They're 
suspicious — or  he  is,  at  least.  Some  one  has  tipped 
me  off  to  them,  I  fancy." 

"  I'm  sorry  they  are  so  badly  mussed,  Mr.  Rollins, 
but  they  did  make  a  very  comfortable  bed,"  she  said, 
walking  over  to  him.  Her  cheeks  were  flushed  and 
her  eyes  were  gleaming.  "  You  are  going  to  Eagle 
Nest  to-day?" 

"  Just  as  soon  as  I  can  get  a  conveyance.  There 
is  a  stage-coach  at  nine,  Miss  Dering." 

"  We  will  have  room  for  you  on  our  break,"  she 
said  simply.  Her  eyes  met  his  bravely  and  then 
wavered.  Rossiter's  heart  gave  a  mighty  leap. 

"  Permit  me  to  second  Miss  Dering's  invitation," 
said  Dudley,  coming  over.  The  suggestion  of  a 
frown  on  his  face  made  Rossiter  only  too  eager  to 
accept  the  unexpected  invitation.  "My  aunt  and 


180  THE  PURPLE  PARASOL 

Miss  Croizer  are  outside  with  the  coachman.  You 
can  have  your  luggage  sent  over  in  the  stage.  It  is 
fourteen  miles  by  road,  so  we  should  be  under  way, 
Mr.  Rollins." 

As  Rossiter  followed  them  across  the  platform  he 
was  saying  to  himself: 

"  Well,  the  game's  on.  Here's  where  I  begin  to 
earn  my  salary.  I'll  hang  out  my  sign  when  I  get 
back  to  New  York :  *  Police  Spying.  Satisfaction 
guaranteed.  References  given.'  Hang  it  all,  I  hate 
to  do  this  to  her.  She's  an  awfully  good  sort,  and — 
and —  But  I  don't  like  this  damned  Havens !  " 

Almost  before  he  knew  it  he  was  being  presented  to 
two  handsome,  fashionably  dressed  young  women  who 
sat  together  in  the  rear  seat  of  the  big  mountain 
break. 

"  Every  cloud  has  its  silver  lining,"  Miss  Bering 
was  saying.  "  Let  me  present  you  to  Mr.  Dudley's 
aunt,  Mrs.  Van  Haltford,  and  to  Miss  Crozier,  Mr. 
Rollins." 

In  a  perfect  maze  of  emotions,  he  found  himself 
bowing  before  the  two  ladies,  who  smiled  distantly 
and  uncertainly.  Dudley's  aunt?  That  dashing 
young  creature  his  aunt?  Rossiter  was  staggered  by 
the  boldness  of  the  claim.  He  could  scarce  restrain 
the  scornful,  brutal  laugh  of  derision  at  this  ridic- 
ulous play  upon  his  credulity.  To  his  secret  satis- 
faction he  discovered  that  the  entire  party  seemed 
nervous  and  ill  at  ease.  There  was  a  trace  of  con- 
fusion in  their  behavior.  He  heard  Miss  Dering  ex- 
plain that  he  was  to  accompany  the  party  and  he  saw 


THE  PURPLE  PARASOL  181 

the  poorly  concealed  look  of  disapproval  and  polite 
inquiry  that  went  beween  the  two  ladies  and  Dudley. 
There  was  nothing  for  it,  however,  now  that  Miss 
Bering  had  committed  herself,  and  he  was  advised  to 
look  to  his  luggage  without  delay. 

He  hurried  into  the  station  to  arrange  for  the 
transportation  of  his  trunk  by  stage,  all  the  while 
smiling  maliciously  in  his  sleeve.  Looking  surrepti- 
tiously from  a  window  he  saw  the  quartet,  all  of  them 
now  on  the  break,  arguing  earnestly  over — him,  he 
was  sure.  Miss  Dering  was  plaintively  facing  the  dis- 
pleasure of  the  trio.  The  coachman's  averted  face 
wore  a  half-grin.  The  discussion  ended  abruptly  as 
Rossiter  reappeared,  but  there  was  a  coldness  in  the 
air  that  did  not  fail  to  impress  him  as  portentous. 

"  I'm  the  elephant  on  their  hands — the  proverbial 
hot  coal,"  he  thought  wickedly.  "  Well,  they've  got 
to  bear  it  even  if  they  can't  grin.  Then  aloud 
cheerily:  "All  aboard!  We're  off!"  He  took  his 
seat  beside  the  driver. 


182  THE  PURPLE  PARASOL 


The  events  of  the  ensuing  weeks  are  best  chronicled 
by  the  reproduction  of  Rossiter's  own  diary  or  re- 
port, with  liberties  in  the  shape  of  an  author's  com- 
ments. 

THURSDAY. 

"  Settled  comfortably  in  Eagle  Nest  House. 
Devilish  rugged  and  out-of-the  way  place.  Mrs.  Van 
Haltford  is  called  Aunt  Josephine.  She  and  Miss 
Debby  Crozier  have  rooms  on  the  third  floor.  Mine  is 
next  to  theirs,  Havens's  is  next  to  mine,  and  Mrs. 
Wharton  has  two  rooms  beyond  his.  We  are  not 
unlike  a  big  family  party.  They're  rather  nice  to 
me.  I  go  walking  with  Aunt  Josephine.  I  don't 
understand  why  I'm  sandwiched  in  between  Havens 
and  Aunt  Josephine.  Otherwise  the  arrangement  is 
neat.  There  is  a  veranda  outside  our  windows.  We 
sit  upon  it.  Aunt  Josephine  is  a  great  bluff,  but  she's 
clever.  She's  never  napping.  I've  tried  to  pump 
her.  Miss  Crozier  is  harmless.  She  doesn't  care. 
Havens  never  takes  his  eyes  off  Mrs.  W.  when  they 
are  together.  She  looks  at  him  a  good  bit,  too. 
They  don't  pay  much  attention  to  me.  Aunt 
Josephine's  husband  is  very  old  and  very  busy.  He 


THE  PURPLE  PARASOL  183 

can't  take  vacations.    Everybody  went  to  bed  early 
to-night.    No  evidence  to-day." 

FRIDAY  NIGHT. 

"  Havens  and  Mrs.  W.  went  hill-climbing  this 
afternoon  and  were  gone  for  an  hour  before  I  missed 
them.  Then  I  took  Aunt  Jo  and  Debby  out  for  a 
quick  climb.  Confound  Aunt  Jo  !  She  got  tired  in  ten 
minutes  and  Debby  wouldn't  go  on  without  her.  I 
think  it  was  a  put-up  job.  The  others  didn't  return 
till  after  six.  She  asked  me  if  I'd  like  to  walk  about 
the  grounds  after  dinner.  Said  I  would.  We  did. 
Havens  went  with  us.  Couldn't  shake  him  to  save 
my  life." 

SATURDAY  NIGHT. 

"  I  have  to  watch  myself  constantly  to  keep  from 
calling  her  Mrs.  Wharton.  I  believe  writing  her 
real  name  is  bad  policy.  It  makes  me  forget.  After 
this  I  shall  call  her  Miss  Dering,  and  I'll  speak  of 
him  as  Dudley.  This  morning  he  asked  me  to  call 
him  *  Jim.'  He  calls  me  *  Sam.'  Actors  do  get 
familiar.  When  she  came  downstairs  to  go  driving 
with  him  this  morning  I'll  swear  she  was  the  prettiest 
thing  I  ever  saw.  They  took  a  lunch  and  were  gone 
for  hours.  I'd  like  to  punch  his  face.  She  was  very 
quiet  all  evening,  and  I  fancied  she  avoided  me.  I 
smelt  liquor  on  his  breath  just  before  bedtime. 

"  One  A.  M. — I  thought  everybody  had  gone  to  bed, 
but  they  are  out  there  on  the  veranda  talking.  Just 


184.  THE  PURPLE  PARASOL 

outside  her  windows.  I  distinctly  heard  him  call  her 
'  dearest.'  Something  must  have  alarmed  them,  for 
they  parted  abruptly.  He  walked  the  veranda  for 
an  hour,  all  alone.  Plenty  of  evidence." 

SUNDAY  NIGHT. 

"  For  appearance's  sake  he  took  Miss  Crozier  for 
a  walk  to-day.  I  went  to  the  chapel  down  the  hill 
with  Miss  Dering  and  Aunt  Josephine.  Aunt 
Josephine  put  a  ten-dollar  bill  in  the  box.  Thinks 
she's  squaring  herself  with  the  Lord,  I  suppose. 
Miss  Dering  was  not  at  all  talkative  and  gave  every 
sign  of  being  uncomfortable  because  he  had  the 
audacity  to  go  walking  with  another  girl.  In  the 
afternoon  she  complained  of  being  ill  and  went  to  her 
room.  Later  on  she  sent  for  Dudley  and  Mrs.  Van 
Haltford.  They  were  in  her  room  all  afternoon.  I 
smoked  on  the  terrace  with  Debby.  She  is  the  most 
uninteresting  girl  I  ever  met.  But  she's  on  to  their 
game.  I  know  it  because  she  forgot  herself  once, 
when  I  mentioned  Miss  Dering's  illness,  and  said: 
'  Poor  girl !  She  is  in  a  most  trying  position.  Don't 
you  think  Mr.  Dudley  is  a  splendid  fellow?  '  I  said 
that  he  was  very  good-looking,  and  she  seemed  to 
realize  she  had  said  something  she  ought  not  to  have 
said  and  shut  up.  I'm  sorry  she's  sick,  though.  I 
miss  that  parasol  dreadfully.  She  always  has  it,  and 
I  can  see  her  a  mile  away.  Usually  he  carries  it, 
though.  Well,  I  suppose  he  has  a  right — as  orig- 
inal owner.  Jim  and  I  smoked  together  this  even- 
ing, but  he  evidently  smells  a  mouse.  He  did  not 


THE  PURPLE  PARASOL  185 

talk  much,  and  I  caught  him  eying  me  strangely 
several  times." 

MONDAY  NIGHT. 

"  Dudley  has  departed.  I  believe  they  are  on  to 
me.  He  went  to  Boston  this  afternoon,  and  he  actu- 
ally was  gruff  with  me  just  before  leaving.  The  size 
of  the  matter  is,  some  one  has  posted  him,  and  they 
are  all  up  to  my  game  as  a  spy.  I  wish  I  were  out  of 
it.  Never  was  so  ashamed  of  a  thing  in  my  life ;  don't 
feel  like  looking  any  one  in  the  face.  They've  all  been 
nice  to  me.  But  what's  the  difference?  They're  all 
interested.  She  went  to  the  train  with  him  and — the 
rest  of  us.  I'll  never  forget  how  sad  she  looked  as 
she  held  his  hand  and  bade  him  good-by.  I  carried 
the  parsol  back  to  the  hotel,  and  I  know  I  hurt  her 
feelings  when  I  maliciously  said  that  it  would  look 
well  with  a  deep  black  border.  She  almost  looked  a 
hole  through  me.  Fine  eyes.  I  don't  know  what  is 
coming  next.  She  is  liable  to  slip  out  from  under  my 
eye  at  any  time  and  fly  away  to  meet  him  somewhere 
else.  I  telegraphed  this  message  to  Grover  &  Dick- 
hut: 

"He  has  gone.  She  still  here.  What  shall  I 
do? 

"  Got  this  answer: 

"  Stay  there  and  watch.  They  suspect  you.  Don't 
let  her  get  away. 


186  THE  PURPLE  PARASOL 

"  But  how  the  devil  am  I  to  watch  day  and 
night?" 

The  next  week  was  rather  an  uneventful  one  for 
Rossiter.  There  was  no  sign  of  Havens  and  no  effort 
on  her  part  to  leave  Eagle  Nest. 

As  the  days  went  by  he  became  more  and  more 
vigilant.  In  fact,  his  watch  was  incessant  and  very 
much  of  a  personal  one.  He  walked  and  drove  with 
her,  and  he  invented  all  sorts  of  excuses  to  avoid 
Mrs.  Van  Haltford  and  Miss  Crozier.  The  purple 
parasol  and  he  had  become  almost  inseparable  friends. 
The  fear  that  Havens  might  return  at  any  time  kept 
him  in  a  fever  of  anxiety  and  dread.  Now  that  he  was 
beginning  to  know  her  for  himself  he  could  not  endure 
the  thought  that  she  cared  for  another  man.  Strange 
to  say,  he  did  not  think  of  her  husband.  Old  Whar- 
ton  had  completely  faded  from  his  mind;  it  was 
Havens  that  he  envied.  He  saw  himself  sinking  into 
her  net,  falling  before  her  wiles,  but  he  did  not  rebel. 

He  went  to  bed  each  night  apprehensive  that  the 
next  morning  should  find  him  alone  and  desolate  at 
Eagle  Nest,  the  bird  flown.  It  hurt  him  to  think  that 
she  would  laugh  over  her  feat  of  outwitting  him.  He 
was  not  guarding  her  for  old  Wharton  now;  he  was 
in  his  own  employ.  All  this  time  he  knew  it  was 
wrong,  and  that  she  was  trifling  with  him  while  the 
other  was  away.  Yet  he  had  eyes,  ears,  and  a  heart 
like  all  men,  and  they  were  for  none  save  the  pretty 
wife  of  Godfrey  Wharton. 

He  spoke  to  her  on  several  occasions  of  Dudley  and 
gnashed  his  teeth  when  he  saw  a  look  of  sadness,  even 


THE  PURPLE  PARASOL  187 

longing,  come  into  her  dark  eyes.  At  such  times  he 
was  tempted  to  tell  her  that  he  knew  all,  to  confound 
her  by  charging  her  with  guilt.  But  he  could  not 
collect  the  courage.  For  some  accountable  reason 
he  held  his  bitter  tongue.  And  so  it  was  that  hand- 
some Sam  Rossiter,  spy  and  good  fellow,  fell  in  love 
with  a  woman  who  had  a  very  dark  page  in  her  his- 
tory. 

She  received  mail,  of  course,  daily,  but  he  was  not 
sneak  enough  to  pry  into  its  secrets,  even  had  the 
chance  presented  itself.  Sometimes  she  tossed  the  let- 
ters away  carelessly,  but  he  observed  that  there  were 
some  which  she  guarded  jealously.  Once  he  heard  her 
tell  Aunt  Josephine  that  she  had  a  letter  from  "  Jim." 
He  began  to  discover  that  "  Jim  "  was  a  forbidden 
subject  and  that  he  was  not  discussed;  at  least,  not 
in  his  presence.  Many  times  he  saw  the  two  women  in 
earnest,  rather  cautious  conversation,  and  instinc- 
tively felt  that  Havens  was  the  subject.  Mrs.  Whar- 
ton  appeared  piqued  and  discontented  after  these 
little  talks.  He  made  this  entry  in  his  diary  one  night, 
a  week  after  Havens  went  away : 

"  I  almost  wish  he'd  come  back  and  end  the  sus- 
pense. This  thing  is  wearing  on  me.  I  was  weighed 
to-day  and  I've  lost  ten  pounds.  Mrs.  Van  Haltford 
says  I  look  hungry  and  advises  me  to  try  salt-water 
air.  I'm  hanged  if  I  don't  give  up  the  job  this  week. 
I  don't  like  it,  anyhow.  It  doesn't  seem  square  to  be 
down  here  enjoying  her  society,  taking  her  walking 
and  all  that,  and  all  the  time  hunting  up  something 
with  which  to  ruin  her  forever.  I'll  stick  the  week 


188  THE  PURPLE  PARASOL 

out,  but  I'm  not  decided  whether  I'll  produce  any 
evidence  against  her  if  the  Wharton  vs.  Wharton 
case  ever  does  come  to  trial.  I  don't  believe  I  could. 
I  don't  want  to  be  a  sneak." 

One  day  Rossiter  and  the  purple  parasol  escorted 
the  pretty  trifler  over  the  valley  to  Bald  Top,  half  a 
mile  from  the  hotel.  Mrs.  Van  Haltford  and  Miss 
Crozier  were  to  join  them  later  and  were  to  bring 
with  them  Colonel  Demin  and  Mr.  Vincent,  two  friends 
who  had  lately  arrived.  The  hotel  was  rapidly  filling 
with  fashionable  guests,  and  Mrs.  Wharton  had  pet- 
ulantly observed,  a  day  or  two  before,  that  the  place 
was  getting  crowded  and  she  believed  she  would  go 
away  soon.  On  the  way  over  she  said  to  him. 

"  I  have  about  decided  to  go  down  to  Velvet  Springs 
for  the  rest  of  the  month.  Don't  you  think  it  is  get- 
ting rather  crowded  here?  " 

"  I  have  been  pretty  well  satisfied,"  he  replied,  in 
an  injured  tone.  "  I  don't  see  why  you  should  want 
to  leave  here." 

"  Why  should  I  stay  if  I  am  tired  of  the  place?  " 
she  asked  demurely,  casting  a  roguish  glance  at  his 
sombre  face.  He  clenched  the  parasol  and  grated  his 
teeth. 

"  She's  leading  me  on,  confound  her !  "  he  thought. 
At  the  same  time  his  head  whirled  and  his  heart  beat 
a  little  faster.  "  You  shouldn't,"  he  said,  "  if  you 
are  tired.  There's  more  of  an  attraction  at  Velvet 
Springs,  I  suppose." 

"  Have  you  been  there?  " 

"No." 


THE  PURPLE  PARASOL  189 

"  You  answered  rather  snappishly.  Have  you  a 
headache? " 

"  Pardon  me ;  I  didn't  intend  to  answer  snappishly, 
as  you  call  it.  I  only  wanted  to  be  brief." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  I  wanted  to  change  the  subject." 

"  Shall  we  talk  of  the  weather?  " 

"  I  suppose  we  may  as  well,"  he  said  resignedly. 
She  was  plainly  laughing  at  him  now.  "  Look  here," 
he  said,  stopping  and  looking  into  her  eyes  intently 
and  somewhat  fiercely,  "  why  do  you  want  to  go  to 
Velvet  Springs  ?  " 

"  Why  should  you  care  where  I  go?  "  she  answered 
blithely,  although  her  eyes  wavered. 

"  It's  because  you  are  unhappy  here  and  because 
some  one  else  is  there.  I'm  not  blind,  Mrs. — Miss 
Dering." 

"  You  have  no  right  to  talk  to  me  in  that  manner, 
Mr.  Rollins.  Come,  we  are  to  go  back  to  the  hotel 
at  once,"  she  said  coldly.  There  was  steel  in  her 
eyes. 

He  met  her  contemptuous  look  for  a  moment  and 
quailed. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  am  a  fool,  but  you  have 
made  me  such,"  he  said  baldly. 

"I?  I  do  not  understand  you,"  and  he  could  not 
but  admire  the  clever,  innocent,  widespread  eyes. 

"  You  will  understand  me  some  day,"  he  said,  and 
to  his  amazement  she  flushed  and  looked  away.  They 
continued  their  walk,  but  there  was  a  strange  shyness 
in  her  manner  that  puzzled  him. 


190  THE  PURPLE  PARASOL 

"When  is  Dudley  expected  back  here?  "  he  asked 
abruptly. 

She  started  sharply  and  gave  him  a  quick,  search- 
ing look.  There  was  a  guilty  expression  in  her  eyes, 
and  he  muttered  something  ugly  under  his  breath. 

"  I  do  not  know,  Mr.  Rollins,"  she  answered. 

"  When  did  you  hear  from  him  last?  "  he  demanded 
half  savagely. 

"  I  do  not  intend  to  be  catechized  by  you,  sir,"  she 
exclaimed,  halting  abruptly.  "  We  shall  go  back. 
You  are  very  ugly  to-day  and  I  am  surprised." 

"  I  supposed  you  had  letters  from  him  every  day," 
he  went  on  ruthlessly.  She  gave  him  a  look  in  which 
he  saw  pain  and  the  shadow  of  tears,  and  then  she 
turned  and  walked  swiftly  toward  the  hotel.  His 
conscience  smote  him  and  he  turned  after  her.  For 
the  next  ten  minutes  he  was  on  his  knees,  figuratively, 
pleading  for  forgiveness.  At  last  she  paused  and 
smiled  sweetly  into  his  face.  Then  she  calmly  turned 
and  resumed  the  journey  to  Bald  Top,  saying  de- 
murely : 

"  We  have  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile  to  retrace,  all 
because  you  were  so  hateful." 

"  And  you  so  obdurate,"  he  added  blissfully.  He 
had  tried  to  be  severe  and  angry  with  her  and  had 
failed. 

That  very  night  the  expected  came  to  pass. 
Havens  appeared  on  the  scene,  the  same  handsome, 
tragic-looking  fellow,  a  trifle  care-worn  perhaps,  but 
still — an  evil  genius.  Rossiter  ran  plump  into  him 
in  the  hallway  and  was  speechless  for  a  moment.  He 


THE  PURPLE  PARASOL  191 

unconsciously  shook  hands  with  the  new  arrival,  but 
his  ears  were  ringing  so  with  the  thuds  of  his  heart 
that  he  heard  but  few  of  the  brisk  words  addressed 
to  him.  After  the  eager  actor  had  left  him  standing 
humbly  in  the  hall  he  managed  to  recall  part  of  what 
had  been  said.  He  had  come  up  on  the  express  from 
Boston  and  could  stay  but  a  day  or  two.  Did  Mr. 
Rossiter  know  whether  Miss  Dering  was  in  her  room? 
The  barrister  also  distinctly  remembered  that  he  did 
not  ask  for  his  aunt,  which  would  have  been  the  per- 
fectly natural  query. 

Half  an  hour  later  Havens  was  strolling  about  the 
grounds,  under  the  lamp  lights,  in  and  out  of  dark 
nooks,  and  close  beside  him  was  a  slim  figure  in  white. 
Their  conversation  was  earnest,  their  manner  se- 
cretive; that  much  the  harassed  Rossiter  could  see 
from  the  balcony.  His  heart  grew  sore  and  he  could 
almost  feel  the  tears  of  disappointment  surging  to  his 
eyes.  A  glance  in  his  mirror  had  shown  him  a  face 
haggard  and  drawn,  eyes  strange  and  bright.  He  had 
not  slept  well,  he  knew;  he  had  worn  himself  out  in 
this  despicable  watch ;  he  had  grown  to  care  for  the 
creature  he  had  been  hired  to  spy  upon.  No  wonder 
he  was  haggard. 

Now  he  was  jealous — madly,  fiendishly  jealous.  In 
his  heart  there  was  the  savage  desire  to  kill  the  other 
man  and  to  denounce  the  woman.  Pacing  the  grounds 
about  the  hotel,  he  soon  worked  himself  into  a  fever, 
devilish  in  its  hotness.  More  than  once  he  passed 
them,  and  it  was  all  he  could  do  to  refrain  from 
springing  upon  them.  At  length  he  did  what  most 


192  THE  PURPLE  PARASOL 

men  do:  he  took  a  drink.  Whisky  flew  down  his 
throat  and  to  his  brain.  In  his  mind's  eye  he  saw 
her  in  the  other's  arms — and  he  could  bear  it  no 
longer!  Rushing  to  his  room,  he  threw  himself  on 
the  bed  and  cursed. 

"  Good  heaven !  I  love  her !  I  love  her  better  than 
all  the  world !  I  can't  stay  here  and  see  any  more  of 
it !  By  thunder,  I'll  go  back  to  New  York  and  they 
can  go  to  the  devil !  So  can  old  Wharton !  And  so 
can  Grover  &  Dickhut !  " 

He  leaped  to  his  feet,  dashed  headlong  to  the  tele- 
graph office  downstairs,  and  ten  minutes  later  this 
message  was  flying  to  Grover  &  Dickhut : 

Get  some  one  else  for  this  job.  I'm  done  with  it. 
Coming  home. — SAM. 

"  I'm  coming  on  the  first  train,  too,"  muttered  the 
sender,  as  he  hurried  up-stairs.  "  I  can  pack  my 
trunk  for  the  night  stage.  I'd  like  to  say  good-by 
to  her,  but  I  can't— I  couldn't  stand  it.  What's  the 
difference?  She  won't  care  whether  I  go  or  stay — 
rather  have  me  go.  If  I  were  to  meet  her  now  I'd 
— yes,  by  George — kiss  her !  It's  wrong  to  love  her, 
but " 

There  was  nothing  dignified  about  the  manner  in 
which  big  Sam  Rossiter  packed  his  trunk.  He  fairly 
stamped  the  clothing  into  it  and  did  a  lot  of  other 
absurd  things.  When  he  finally  locked  it  and  yanked 
out  his  watch  his  brow  was  wet  and  he  was  trembling. 
It  had  taken  just  five  minutes  to  do  the  packing. 


THE  PURPLE  PARASOL  193 

His  hat  was  on  the  back  of  his  head,  his  collar  was 
melting,  and  his  cigar  was  chewed  to  a  pulp.  Cane 
and  umbrella  were  yanked  from  behind  the  door  and 
he  was  ready  to  fly.  The  umbrella  made  him  think 
of  a  certain  parasol,  and  his  heart  grew  still  and  cold 
with  the  knowledge  that  he  was  never  to  carry  it 
again. 

"I  hope  I  don't  meet  any  of  'em,"  he  muttered, 
pulling  himself  together  and  rushing  into  the  hall. 
A  porter  had  already  jerked  his  trunk  down  the  stair 
steps. 

As  he  hastened  after  it  he  heard  the  swish  of 
skirts  and  detected  in  the  air  a  familiar  odor,  the 
subtle  scent  of  a  perfume  that  he  could  not  forget 
were  he  to  live  a  thousand  years.  The  next  moment 
she  came  swiftly  around  a  corner  in  the  hall,  hurry- 
ing to  her  rooms.  They,  met  and  both  started  in 
surprise,  her  eyes  falling  to  his  travelling-bag,  and 
then  lifting  to  his  face  in  bewilderment.  He  checked 
his  hurried  flight  and  she  came  quite  close  to  him. 
The  lights  in  the  hall  were  dim  and  the  elevator  car 
had  dropped  to  regions  below. 

"  Where  are  you  going?  "  she  asked  in  some  agi- 
tation. 

"  I  am  going  back  to  New  York,"  he  answered,  con- 
trolling himself  with  an  effort.  She  was  so  beauti- 
ful, there  in  the  dim  hallway. 

"  To-night?  "  she  asked  in  very  low  tones. 

« In  half  an  hour." 

"  And  were  you  going  without  saying  good-by  to 
• — to  us?  "  she  went  on  rapidly. 


194  THE  PURPLE  PARASOL 

He  looked  steadily  down  into  her  solemn  eyes  for  a 
moment  and  an  expression  of  pain,  of  longing,  came 
into  his  own. 

"It  couldn't  make  any  difference  whether  I  said 
good-by  to  you,  and  it  would  have  been  hard,"  he  re- 
plied unsteadily. 

"  Hard?    I  don't  understand  you,"  she  said. 

"  I  didn't  want  to  see  you.  Yes,  I  hoped  to  get 
way  before  you  knew  anything  about  it.  Maybe  it 
was  cowardly,  but  it  was  the  best  way,"  he  cried 
bitterly. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  she  cried,  and  he  detected 
alarm,  confusion,  guilt  in  her  manner. 

"  You  know  what  I  mean.  I  know  everything — 
I  knew  it  before  I  came  here,  before  I  saw  you.  It's 
why  I  am  here,  I'm  ashamed  to  say.  But,  have 
no  fear — have  no  fear!  I've  given  up  the  job — the 
nasty  job — and  you  can  do  as  you  please.  The  only 
trouble  is  that  I  have  been  caught  in  the  web;  I've 
been  trapped  myself.  You've  made  me  care  for  you. 
That's  why  I'm  giving  it  all  up.  Don't  look  so  fright- 
ened— I'll  promise  to  keep  your  secret." 

Her  eyes  were  wide,  her  lips  parted,  but  no  words 
came ;  she  seemed  to  shrink  from  him  as  if  he  were  the 
headsman  and  she  his  victim. 

"  I'll  do  it,  right  or  wrong ! "  he  gasped  suddenly. 
And  in  an  instant  his  satchel  clattered  to  the  floor  and 
his  arms  were  straining  the  slight  figure  to  his  breast. 
Burning  lips  met  hers  and  sealed  them  tight.  She 
shivered  violently,  struggled  for  an  instant  in  his 
mad  embrace,  but  made  no  outcry.  Gradually  her 


THE  PURPLE  PARASOL  196 

free  arm  stole  upward  and  around  his  neck  and  her 
lips  responded  to  the  passion  in  his.  His  kiss  of 
ecstasy  was  returned.  The  thrill  of  joy  that  shot 
through  him  was  almost  overpowering.  A  dozen  times 
he  kissed  her.  Unbelieving,  he  held  her  from  him  and 
looked  hungrily  into  her  eyes.  They  were  wet  with 
tears. 

"  Why  do  you  go  ?  I  love  you !  "  she  whispered 
faintly. 

Then  came  the  revulsion.  With  an  oath  he  threw 
her  from  him.  Her  hands  went  to  her  temples  and  a 
moan  escaped  her  lips. 

"Bah!"  he  snarled.  "Get  away  from  me! 
Heaven  forgive  me  for  being  as  weak  as  I've  been  to- 
night!" 

"  Sam !  "  she  wailed  piteously. 
"  Don't  tell  me  anything !     Don't  try  to  explain ! 
Be  honest  with  one  man,  at  least !  " 

"  You  must  be  insane !  "  she  cried  tremulously. 
"  Don't  play  innocent,  madam.     I  know."    In  ab- 
ject error  she  shrank  away  from  him.     "  But  I  have 
kissed  you !    If  I  live  a  thousand  years  I  shall  not  for- 
get its  sweetness." 

He  waved  his  hands  frantically  above  her,  grabbed 
up  his  suit-case  and  traps,  and,  with  one  last  look  at 
the  petrified  woman  shrinking  against  the  wall  under 
the  blasts  of  his  vituperation,  he  dashed  for  the  stair- 
way. And  so  he  left  her,  a  forlorn,  crushed  figure. 

Blindly  he  tore  downstairs  and  to  the  counter.  He 
hardly  knew  what  he  was  doing  as  he  drew  forth  his 
pocket-book  to  pay  his  account. 


196  THE  PURPLE  PARASOL 

"  Going  away,  Mr.  Rollins  ?  "  inquired  the  clerk, 
glancing  at  the  clock.  It  was  eleven-twenty  and  the 
last  stage-coach  left  for  Fossingford  at  eleven-thirty, 
in  time  to  catch  the  seven  o'clock  down  train. 

"  Certainly,"  was  the  excited  answer. 

"  A  telegram  came  a  few  moments  ago  for  you,  sir, 
but  I  thought  you  were  in  bed,"  and  the  other  tossed 
a  little  envelope  out  to  him.  Mechanically  Rossiter 
tore  it  open.  He  was  thinking  of  the  cowering  woman 
in  the  hallway  and  he  was  cursing  himself  for  his 
brutality. 

He  read  the  despatch  with  dizzy  eyes  and  drooping 
jaw,  once,  twice,  thrice.  Then  he  leaned  heavily 
against  the  counter  and  a  coldness  assailed  his  heart, 
so  bitter  that  he  felt  his  blood  freezing.  It  read: 

What  have  you  been  doing?  The  people  you  were 
sent  to  watch  sailed  for  Europe  ten  days  ago. 

GEOVEE  &  DICKHUT. 

The  paper  fell  from  his  trembling  fingers,  but  he 
regained  it,  natural  instinct  inspiring  a  fear  that  the 
clerk  would  read  it. 

"Good  Lord!"  he  gasped. 

"Bad  news,  Mr.  Rollins?"  asked  the  clerk  sym- 
pathetically, but  the  stricken,  bewildered  man  did  not 
answer. 

What  did  it  mean?  A  vast  faint  ness  attacked  him 
as  the  truth  began  to  penetrate.  Out  of  the  whirling 
mystery  came  the  astounding,  ponderous  realization 
that  he  had  blundered,  that  he  had  wronged  her,  that 


THE  PURPLE  PARASOL  197 

he  had  accused  her  of — Oh,  that  dear,  stricken  figure 
in  the  hallway  above ! 

He  leaped  to  the  staircase.  Three  steps  at  a  time 
he  flew  back  to  the  scene  of  the  miserable  tragedy. 
What  he  thought,  what  he  felt  as  he  rushed  into  the 
hallway  can  only  be  imagined.  She  was  gone — heart- 
broken, killed !  And  she  had  kissed  him  and  said  she 
loved  him ! 

A  light  shone  through  the  transoms  over  the  doors 
that  led  into  her  apartments.  Quaking  with  fear,  he 
ran  down  the  hall  and  beat  a  violent  tattoo  upon  her 
parlor  door.  Again  he  rapped,  crazed  by  remorse, 
fear,  love,  pity,  shame,  and  a  hundred  other  emotions. 

"  Who  is  it?  "  came  in  stifled  tones  from  within. 

"  It  is  I — Rossiter — I  mean  Rollins !  I  must  see 
you — now !  For  pity's  sake  let  me  in !  " 

"  How  dare  you — "  she  began  shrilly ;  but  he  was 
not  to  be  denied. 

"  If  you  don't  open  this  door  I'll  kick  it  in !  "  he 
shouted.  "  I  must  see  you !  " 

After  a  moment  the  door  flew  open  and  he  stood 
facing  her.  She  was  like  a  queen.  Her  figure  was  as 
straight  as  an  arrow,  her  eyes  blazing.  But  there  had 
been  tears  in  them  a  moment  before. 

"  Another  insult !  "  she  exclaimed,  and  the  scorn  in 
her  voice  was  withering.  He  paused  abashed,  for  the 
first  time  realizing  that  he  had  hurt  her  beyond  rep- 
aration. His  voice  faltered  and  the  tears  flew  to  his 
eyes. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  say  to  you.  It  has  been  a 
mistake — a  frightful  mistake — and  I  don't  know 


198  THE  PURPLE  PARASOL 

whether  you'll  let  me  explain.  When  I  got  down- 
stairs I  found  this  telegram  and — for  heaven's  sake, 
let  me  tell  you  the  wretched  story.  Don't  turn  away 
from  me!  You  shall  listen  to  me  if  I  have  to  hold 
you !  "  His  manner  changed  suddenly  to  the  violent, 
imperious  forcefulness  of  a  man  driven  to  the  last  re- 
sort. 

"  Must  I  call  for  help  ?  "  she  cried,  thoroughly 
alarmed,  once  more  the  weak  woman,  face  to  face, 
as  she  thought,  with  an  insane  man. 

"  I  love  you  better  than  my  own  life,  and  I've  hurt 
you  terribly.  I'm  not  crazy,  Helen!  But  I've  been 
a  fool,  and  I'll  go  crazy  if  you  don't  give  me  a  chance 
to  explain." 

Whether  she  gave  the  chance  or  no  he  took  it, 
and  from  his  eager,  pleading  lips  raced  the  whole 
story  of  his  connection  with  the  Wharton  affair  from 
first  to  last.  He  humbled  himself,  accused  himself, 
ridiculed  himself,  and  wound  up  by  throwing  him- 
self upon  her  mercy,  uttering  protestations  of  the 
love  which  had  really  been  his  undoing. 

She  heard  him  through  without  a  word.  The  light 
in  her  eyes  changed ;  the  fear  left  them  and  the  scorn 
fled.  Instead  there  grew,  by  stages,  wonder,  incre- 
dulity, wavering  doubt  and — joy.  She  understood 
him  and  she  loved  him!  The  awful  horror  of  that 
meeting  in  the  hallway  was  swept  away  like  unto  the 
transformation  scene  in  the  fairy  spectacle. 

When  he  fell  upon  his  knee  and  sought  to  clasp 
her  fingers  in  his  cold  hand  she  smiled,  and,  stooping 
over,  placed  both  hands  on  his  cheeks  and  kissed  him. 


THE  PURPLE  PARASOL  199 

What  followed  her  kiss  of  forgiveness  may  be  more 
easily  imagined  than  told. 

"  You  see  it  was  perfectly  natural  for  me  to  mis- 
take you  for  Mrs.  Wharton,"  he  said  after  awhile. 
"  You  had  the  gray  jacket,  the  sailor  hat,  the  purple 
parasol,  and  you  are  beautiful.  And,  besides  all  that, 
you  were  found  red-handed  in  that  ridiculous  town 
of  Fossingford.  Why  shouldn't  I  have  suspected  you 
with  such  a  preponderance  of  evidence  against  you? 
Anybody  who  would  get  off  of  a  night  train  in  Fos- 
singford certainly  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  something." 

"But  Fossingford  is  on  the  map,  isn't  it?  One 
has  a  perfect  right  to  get  off  where  she  likes,  hasn't 
she,  provided  it  is  on  the  map?  " 

"  Not  at  all !  That's  what  maps  are  for :  to  let  you 
see  where  you  don't  get  off." 

"  But  I  was  obliged  to  get  off  there.  My  ticket 
said  '  Fossingford,'  and,  besides,  I  was  to  be  met  at 
the  station  in  a  most  legitimate  manner.  You  had  no 
right  to  jump  at  conclusions." 

"  Well,  if  you  had  not  descended  to  earth  at  Fos- 
singford I  wouldn't  be  in  heaven  at  Eagle  Nest.  Come 
to  think  of  it,  I  believe  you  did  quite  the  proper 
thing  in  getting  off  at  Fossingford — no  matter  what 
the  hour." 

"  You  must  remember  always  that  I  have  not  taken 
you  to  task  for  a  most  flagrant  piece  of — shall  I  say 
indiscretion?  " 

"  Good  Heavens !  " 

"  You  stopped  off  at  Fossingford  for  the  sole  pur- 
pose of  seeing  another  woman." 


200  THE  PURPLE  PARASOL 

"  That's  all  very  fine,  dear,  but  you'll  admit  that 
Dudley  was  an  excellent  substitute  for  Havens.  Can't 
you  see  how  easy  it  was  to  be  mistaken?  " 

"I  won't  fall  into  easy  submission.  Still,  I  be- 
lieve I  could  recommend  you  as  a  detective.  They 
usually  do  the  most  unheard  of  things — just  as  you 
have.  Poor  Jim  Dudley  an  actor !  Mistaken  for  such 
a  man  as  you  say  Havens  is!  It  is  even  more  ridic- 
ulous than  that  I  should  be  mistaken  for  Mrs.  Whar- 
ton." 

"  Say,  I'd  like  to  know  something  about  Dudley. 
It  was  his  confounded  devotion  to  you  that  helped 
matters  along  in  my  mind.  What  is  he  to  you?  " 

"  He  came  here  to-night  to  repeat  a  question  that 
had  been  answered  unalterably  once  before.  Jim 
Dudley?  Have  you  never  heard  of  James  Dudley, 
the  man  who  owns  all  of  those  big  mines  in  South 
America,  the  man  who " 

*'  Who  owns  the  yachts  and  automobiles  and — and 
the  railroad  trains?  Is  he  the  one?  The  man  with 
the  millions?  Good  Lord!  And  you  could  have  had 
him  instead  of  me?  Helen,  I — I  don't  understand  it. 
Why  didn't  you  take  him?  " 

She  hesitated  a  moment  before  answering  brightly : 

"  Perhaps  it  is  because  I  have  a  fancy  for  the 
ridiculous." 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 


"  Well,  the  question  is :  how  much  does  she 
weigh?  "  asked  Eddie  Ten  Eyck  with  satirical  good 
humour. 

His  somewhat  flippant  inquiry  followed  the  heated 
remark  of  General  Horatio  Gamble,  who,  in  desper- 
ation, had  declared  that  his  step-daughter,  Martha, 
was  worth  her  weight  in  gold. 

The  General  was  quite  a  figure  in  the  town  of  Es- 
sex. He  was  the  president  of  the  Town  and  Country 
Club  and,  besides  owning  a  splendid  stud,  was  also 
the  possessor  of  a  genuine  Gainsborough,  picked  up 
at  the  shop  of  an  obscure  dealer  in  antiques  in  New 
York  City  for  a  ridiculously  low  price  (two  hundred 
dollars,  it  has  been  said),  and  which,  according  to  a 
rumour  started  by  himself,  was  worth  a  hundred  thou- 
sand if  it  was  worth  a  dollar,  although  he  contrived 
to  keep  the  secret  from  the  ears  of  the  county  tax  col- 
lector. He  had  married  late  in  life,  after  accumu- 
lating a  fortune  that  no  woman  could  despise,  and  of 
late  years  had  taken  to  frequenting  the  Club  with  a 
far  greater  assiduity  than  is  customary  in  most  pres- 
idents. 

Young  Mr.  Ten  Eyck's  sarcasm  was  inspired  by  a 
201 


202  HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

mind's-eye  picture  of  Miss  Martha  Gamble.  To 
quote  Jo  Grigsby,  she  was  "  so  plain  that  all  compari- 
son began  and  ended  with  her."  Without  desiring 
to  appear  ungallant,  I  may  say  that  there  were 
many  homely  young  women  in  Essex ;  but  each  of 
them  had  the  delicate  satisfaction  of  knowing  that 
Martha  was  incomparably  her  superior  in  that  re- 
spect. 

"  I  am  not  jesting,  sir,"  said  the  General  with  as- 
perity. "  Martha  may  not  be  as  good-looking  as — 
er — some  girls  that  I've  seen,  but  she  is  a  jewel,  just 
the  same.  The  man  who  gets  her  for  a  wife  will  be 
a  blamed  sight  luckier  than  the  fellows  who  marry  the 
brainless  little  fools  we  see  trotting  around  like  but- 
terflies." (It  was  the  first  time  that  Eddie  had  heard 
of  trotting  butterflies.) 

"  She's  a  fine  girl,"  was  his  conciliatory  re- 
mark. 

"  She  is  pure  gold,"  said  the  General  with  con- 
viction. "  Pure  gold,  sir." 

"  A  nugget,"  agreed  Eddie  expansively.  "  A  hun- 
dred and  eighty  pound  nugget,  General.  Why  don't 
you  send  her  to  a  refinery?  " 

The  General  merely  glared  at  him  and  subsided  into 
thoughtful  silence.  He  was  in  the  habit  of  falling 
into  deep  spells  of  abstraction  at  such  times  as  this. 
For  the  life  of  him,  he  couldn't  understand  how  Mar- 
tha came  by  her  excessive  plainness.  Her  mother  was 
looked  upon  as  a  beautiful  woman  and  her  father 
(the  General's  predecessor)  had  been  a  man  worth 
looking  at,  even  from  a  successor's  point  of  view. 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD  203 

That  Martha  should  have  grown  up  to  such  appall- 
ing ugliness  was  a  source  of  wonder,  not  only  to  the 
General,  but  to  Mrs.  Gamble  herself. 

Young  Mr.  Ten  Eyck  was  the  most  impecunious 
spendthrift  in  Essex.  He  lived  by  his  wits,  with 
which  he  was  more  generously  endowed  than  anything 
in  the  shape  of  gold  or  precious  jewels.  His  raiment 
was  accumulative.  His  spending  money  came  to  him 
through  an  allowance  that  his  grandmother  consid- 
erately delivered  to  him  at  regular  periods,  but 
as  is  the  custom  with  such  young  men  he  was  penni- 
less before  the  quarter  was  half  over.  At  all  times 
he  was  precariously  close  to  being  submerged  by  his 
obligations.  Yet  trouble  sat  lightly  upon  his  head, 
if  one  were  to  judge  by  outward  appearances.  Be- 
neath a  bland,  care-free  exterior,  however,  there 
lurked  in  Edward's  bosom  a  perpetual  pang  of  dis- 
tress over  the  financial  situation. 

What  worried  him  most  was  the  conviction  that  all 
signs  pointed  toward  the  suspension  of  credit  in 
places  where  he  owed  money,  and,  as  he  owed  without 
discrimination,  the  future  seemed  hard  to  contem- 
plate. 

Prudent  mothers  stood  defiantly  between  him  and 
what  might  have  been  prosperity.  He  could  win  the 
hearts  of  daughters  with  shameful  regularity  and 
ease,  but  he  could  not  delude  the  heads  of  the  families 
to  which  they  belonged.  They  knew  him  well  and 
wisely. 

The  conversation  between  him  and  General  Gam- 
ble took  place  in  the  reading-room  of  the  Town  and 


204  HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

Country  Club.  There  was  a  small  table  between  them, 
and  glasses. 

"  What  is  the  market  price  of  gold  to-day, 
General?"  asked  Eddie  impudently,  after  he  had 
watched  the  old  man's  gloomy  countenance  out  of  the 
corner  of  his  eye  for  the  matter  of  three  minutes  or 
more. 

The  General  regarded  him  with  deep  scorn. 
"Gold?  What  do  you  know  about  gold?  You 
seldom  see  anything  more  precious  than  copper." 

"That's  no  joke,"  agreed  Eddie  with  his  frank 
smile.  "  I  am  the  only,  original  penny  limit.  That 
reminds  me,  General.  I  meant  to  speak  of  it  before, 
but  somehow  it  slipped  my  mind.  Could  you  lend 
me—" 

The  General  held  up  his  hand.  "  I've  been  waiting 
for  that,  Eddie.  Don't  humiliate  yourself  by  asking 
for  a  small  amount.  I  haven't  the  remotest  idea  how 
much  you  already  owe  me,  but  it  doesn't  matter  in 
view  of  the  fact  that  you'll  never  pay  it.  You  were 
about  to  request  the  loan  of  ten  dollars,  my  boy. 
Why  not  ask  for  a  respectable  amount? — say,  fifty 
dollars." 

Eddie's  heart  leaped.  "  That's  just  the  amount  I 
meant  to  ask  you  to  let  me  have  for  a  week  or  two. 
'Pon  my  word,  it  is." 

"  Well,"  said  the  General,  taking  a  notebook  from 
his  pocket  and  carefully  jotting  down  an  entry  with 
his  gold-tipped  pencil,  "  I  cheerfully  give  it  to  you, 
Eddie.  I  shall  credit  your  account  with  that  amount. 
Fifty  dollars — um!  It  is  a  new  system  I  have  con- 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD  205 

eluded  to  adopt.  Every  time  you  ask  me  for  a  loan 
I  shall  subtract  the  amount  from  what  you  already 
owe  me.  In  time,  you  see,  the  whole  debt  will  be 
lifted,  and  you'll  not  owe  me  a  cent." 

Eddie  blinked.  A  slow  grin  crept  into  his  face  as 
he  grasped  the  irony  in  the  General's  scheme. 

"  Fine  financing,  General.  It  suits  me  to  a  dot. 
By  the  way,  do  you  think  you  can  spare  another  hun- 
dred or  two?  " 

"The  books  are  closed  for  the  month,"  said  the 
General  placidly.  He  rang  the  bell  on  the  table. 
"  More  ice,  boy,  and  the  same  bottle.  As  I  was  say- 
ing, Eddie,  I  can't  for  the  life  of  me  see  why  you 
fellows  are  so  blind  when  it  comes  to  Martha.  She 


"  We  are  not  blind,"  interrupted  Eddie,  not  at  all 
annoyed  by  his  failure  to  negotiate  the  loan. 
"  That's  just  the  trouble.  If  a  blind  man  came  along, 
I've  not  doubt  he  could  see  something  attractive  in 
her." 

"  Damme !  If  she  were  my  own  daughter,  I'd 
thrash  you  for  that  remark,  sir." 

"  If  she  were  your  own  daughter,  you  wouldn't 
be  discussing  her  with  a  high-ball  in  your  hand." 

The  General  coughed.  "  Ahem !  Eddie,  I'd  give 
a  good  deal  to  see  that  girl  married.  Leave  the 
bottle  on  the  table,  boy.  She  will  have  money — 
a  lot  of  it — one  of  these  days.  There  are  dozens  of 
young  men  that  we  know  who'd  do  'most  anything 
for  money.  I —  By  George !  "  He  broke  off  to  stare 
with  glittering  eyes  at  the  face  of  the  young  man 


206  HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

opposite.  A  great  thought  was  expanding  in  kis 
brain. 

Eddie  shifted  nervously.  "  Why  are  you  looking 
at  me  like  that?  I  don't  need  it  that  badly." 

"  I'd  never  thought  of  you,  Eddie, — 'pon  my  word 
I  hadn't.  Not  until  this  moment.  You  need  money 
worse  than  any  one  I  know.  There  isn't  another 
girl  in  town  who  would  marry  you,  and  Martha 
would.  Believe  me,  she  would !  And  let  me  tell  you, 
sir,  you  couldn't  find  a  truer  wife  than  Martha. 
You—" 

"  She  couldn't  help  being  true,"  mused  Eddie, 
rattling  the  ice  in  his  empty-glass.  The  General 
pushed  the  bottle  toward  him. 

"  She  is  a  bit  older  than  you,  I'll  admit,"  pursued 
the  General  reflectively.  "  Worth  her  weight  in 
gold,"  he  murmured  with  a  sort  of  ecstasy  in  his  voice. 

Young  Ten  Eyck  assumed  an  injured  air.  "  I  am 
poor,  General  Gamble,  but  I  am  not  blind." 

"  She  likes  you,"  went  on  the  older  man,  revelling 
in  the  new-found  hope.  "  You  don't  amount  to 
much, — and  she  knows  it,  I  suppose, — but  you  can 
have  her,  my  boy.  She'll  be  the  richest  girl  in  Essex 
when  I  die.  Take  her,  my  boy ;  I  gladly  give  my  con- 
sent. Will  you  permit  me  to  congratu — " 

"  One  moment,  if  you  please.  In  a  case  like  this, 
you  would  never  die.  It  would  be  just  my  luck.  No, 
I  thank  you.  I  decline  the  honour.  If  you  could 
perform  a  miracle  and  transform  her  into  real  gold, 
I  might  consider  the  proposition,  but  not  as  it  now 
stands." 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD  207 

"  She  weighs  about  one-eighty,"  said  the  General 
speculatively. 

Eddie  glanced  at  him  sharply.  "  One  hundred  and 
eighty  pounds  in  gold.  Quite  a  pile,  eh?  " 

The  General  was  silent  for  a  long  time,  permitting 
the  vague  idea  to  thrive  in  his  harassed  mind.  His 
young  companion  was  moodily  trying  to  estimate 
the  value  of  one  hundred  and  eighty  pounds  of  virgin 
gold. 

At  last  the  General  reached  a  conclusion.  It  was 
a  rather  heroic  effort.  He  relighted  his  cigar  with 
trembling  fingers. 

"  I  suppose  you  haven't  heard  of  the  wedding 
present  I  intend  to  bestow  upon  the  fortunate  man 
who  leads  her  to  the  altar?  "  said  he,  casting  the 
fatal  die. 

"No;  but  a  separate  house  and  lot  wouldn't  be 
despised,  I  should  say." 

"  Nonsense.  By  the  way,  Eddie,  this  must  not  go 
any  farther.  It's  strictly  entre  nous.  I  don't  want 
to  have  the  dear  girl  pestered  to  death  by  fortune 
hunters.  On  his  wedding  day  the  man  who  marries 
Martha  is  to  have  the  equivalent  of  her  weight  in 
double  eagles.  Isn't  that  ra-ather  handsome?  " 

He  sank  back  and  waited  for  the  seed  to  sink 
deeply  into  Ten  Eyck  soil.  Eddie's  eyelids  flickered. 
The  grin  of  a  Cheshire  cat  came  to  his  lips  in- 
voluntarily and  remained  there  without  modification 
for  the  matter  of  an  hour  or  two. 

"  Great !"  he  said  at  last. 

"  I  must  be  on  my  way,"  observed  the  wily  step- 


208  HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

father,  beating  a  retreat  so  hastily  that  Eddie  missed 
the  opportunity  to  scoff.  But  the  contemplative 
smile  remained  just  as  he  had  left  it. 

Several  days  passed  before  the  two  met  again. 
The  General  had  sowed  wisely,  and  he  was  reason- 
ably certain  of  the  harvest.  He  knew  that  it  would 
be  hard  for  young  Ten  Eyck  to  bring  himself  to  the 
sacrificial  altar;  but  that  he  would  come  and  would 
bend  his  neck  was  a  foregone  conclusion.  He  went 
on  the  theory  that  if  you  give  a  man  rope  enough 
he'll  hang  himself,  and  he  felt  that  Eddie  was  almost 
at  the  end  of  his  rope  in  these  cruel  days. 

As  for  Eddie,  he  tried  to  put  the  thought  out  of 
his  mind,  but  as  time  went  on  he  caught  himself  many 
times — (with  a  start  of  shame) — trying  to  ap- 
proximate the  worth  of  Martha  Gamble  on  the  basis 
set  forth  by  her  step-father.  The  second  day  after 
the  interview  he  consulted  a  friend  of  his  who  hap- 
pened to  be  a  jeweller.  From  him  he  ascertained  the 
present  market  value  of  twenty-four  carat  gold.  So 
much  for  the  start ! 

His  creditors  were  threatening  to  sue  or  to  "  black- 
list "  him ;  his  friends  long  since  had  begun  to  dodge 
him,  fearing  the  habitual  request  for  temporary 
loans ;  his  allowance  was  not  due  for  several  weeks. 
Circumstances  were  so  harsh  that  even  Martha  ap- 
peared desirable  by  contrast.  He  felt  an  instinctive 
longing  for  rest,  and  peace,  and — pecuniary  absolu- 
tion. 

He  was  therefore  deserving  of  pity  when  he  finally 
surrendered  to  the  inevitable.  How  he  cursed  himself 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD  209 

— (and  his  creditors) — as  he  set  out  to  find  the  Gen- 
eral on  that  bright  spring  day  when  every  other  liv- 
ing creature  on  earth  seemed  to  be  happy  and  free 
from  care.  Kismet! 

General  Gamble  was  reading  in  a  quiet  corner  of 
the  Club.  That  is  to  say,  he  had  the  appearance  of 
one  reading.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  had  been  watch- 
ing Eddie's  shy,  uncertain  evolutions  for  half  an  hour 
or  more,  and  he  chuckled  inwardly.  As  many  as  ten 
times  the  victim  strolled  through  the  reading  room, 
on  the  pretext  of  looking  for  some  one.  Some- 
thing told  the  General  that  he  was  going  to  lose  Mar- 
tha. 

At  last  Eddie  approached  him.  He  came  with  the 
swift  impetuosity  of  a  man  who  has  decided  and  is 
afraid  to  risk  a  reaction. 

"  Hello,  General,"  was  his  crisp  greeting  as  he 
dropped  into  the  chair  which  the  astute  old  gentleman 
had  placed,  with  premeditation,  close  to  his  own  some 
time  before.  He  went  straight  to  the  point.  "  I've 
been  thinking  over  what  you  said  the  other  day  about 
Martha.  Well,  I'll  marry  her." 

"  You ! "  exclaimed  the  General,  simulating  incre- 
dulity. "You!" 

"Yes.  I'll  be  it.  How  much  does  she  really 
weigh?" 

"Are — are  you  in  earnest,  my  boy?"  cried  the 
other.  "  Why,  she'll  be  tickled  to  death !  " 

"May  I  have  her?" 

"  God  bless  you, — yes  I  " 

"  I  suppose  I  ought  to  go  up  and  see  her  and — and 


210  HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

tell  her  I  love  her,"  said  Eddie  lugubriously.  "  Or," 
with  a  fine  inspiration,  "  perhaps  you  wouldn't  mind 
telling  her  for  me.  I — " 

"  Tell  her  yourself,  you  young  rascal,"  cried  the 
General  in  fine  good  humour,  poking  his  prospective 
stepson-in-law  in  the  ribs. 

Eddie  winced.  "  You  can  do  that  to  me  now,  but 
if  you  jab  me  in  the  ribs  after  I'm  married  I'll  jab 
you  in  the  eye." 

"  Good !  I  like  your  spirit.  Gad,  I  love  a  fighting- 
man!  And  now,  my  boy,  it  seems  to  me  there's  no 
sense  in  delaying  matters.  You  have  my  consent. 
As  a  matter  of  form  you  ought  to  get  Martha's. 
She'll  take  you,  of  course,  but  I — I  suppose  she  would 
like  the  idea  of  being  proposed  to.  They  all  do.  I 
daresay  you  two  can  settle  the  point  in  a  jiffy  in 
some  quiet  nook  up  at  the —  But,  there !  I  shall  not 
offer  suggestions  to  you  in  an  affair  of  the  heart,  my 
son.  Will  you  be  up  to  see  her  this  evening?  " 

Eddie  drew  a  long  breath.  "  If — if  she  has  no 
other  engagement." 

"  Engagement?  "  gasped  the  General,  with  popping 
eyes.  "  She  hasn't  sat  up  after  eight  o'clock  in  four 
years,  except  on  Christmas  Eve.  You  won't  be  dis- 
turbed ;  so  come  around." 

"  Perhaps,  to  be  sure  of  finding  her  up,  I'd  better 
come  to  dinner." 

"  By  all  means.  Stay  as  late  as  you  like,  too.  She 
won't  get  sleepy  to-night.  Not  a  bit  of  it."  He 
arose  to  depart. 

"  Just   a  moment,  General,"   said   Eddie   curtly. 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD  211 

"  We've  got  a  few  preliminaries  to  arrange  before  I 
commit  myself.  Here  is  a  paper  for  you  to  sign. 
Business  is  business,  you  know,  and  this  is  the  first 
really  business-like  thing  I've  ever  done.  Be  good 
enough  to  read  this  paper  very  carefully  before  sign- 
ing." 

General  Gamble  put  on  his  glasses  and  read  the 
brief,  but  ample  contract  which  bound  him  to  pay  to 
Edward  Peabody  Ten  Eyck,  on  the  day  that  he  was 
married  to  Martha  Gamble,  for  better  or  for  worse, 
an  amount  equivalent  to  the  value  of  her  weight  in 
pure  gold.  He  hesitated  for  one  brief,  dubious  mo- 
ment, then  called  for  pen,  ink,  and  paper.  When 
these  articles  were  brought  to  him,  he  deliberately 
drew  up  a  second  contract  by  which  Edward  Ten 
Eyck  bound  himself  to  wed  Martha  Gamble  (and  no 
other)  on  a  day  to  be  named  by  mutual  consent  at  a 
later  date — but  not  very  much  later,  he  was  privately 
resolved. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  "  we'll  each  sign  one.  You  sha'n't 
get  the  better  of  me,  my  boy." 

Each  signed  in  the  presence  of  two  waiters,  neither 
of  whom  knew  the  nature  of  the  instruments. 

"  Troy  weight,"  said  the  General  magnanimously. 
"  She  is  a  jewel,  you  know." 

"  Certainly.  It's  stipulated  in  the  contract — 
twenty-four  carat  gold.  You  said  pure,  you  remem- 
ber. You  may  have  noticed  that  I  take  her  at  the 
prevailing  market  price  of  gold.  It  is  now  four  cents 
a  carat.  Twenty-four  carats  in  a  pennyweight. 
That  makes  ninety-six  cents  per  pennyweight. 


212  HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

Twenty  pennyweight  in  an  ounce,  and  there  we  have 
nineteen  dollars  and  twenty  cents  per  ounce.  We'll 
— we'll  weigh  her  in  by  ounces." 

"  That's  reasonable.  The  price  of  gold  isn't  likely 
to  fluctuate  much." 

"  It  must  be  distinctly  understood  that  you  keep 
her  well-fed  from  this  day  on,  General.  I  won't  have 
her  fluctuating.  She  hasn't  any  silly  notions  about 
reducing,  has  she?  " 

"  My  dear  fellow,  she  poses  as  a  Venus,"  cried  the 
General. 

"  Good !  And  here's  another  point :  pardon  me  for 
suggesting  it,  but  you  understand  that  she's  to  weigh 
in — er — that  is  to  say,  her  clothing  is  to  be  weighed 
in  with  her." 

"What's  that?" 

"  You  heard  what  I  said.  She's  to  be  settled  for— 
dressed." 

"  Good  Lord,  she  isn't  a  chicken  !  " 

"  Nobody  said  she  was.  It  is  fit  and  proper  that 
her  garments  should  be  weighed  with  her.  Hang  it 
all,  man,  I'm  marrying  her  clothes  as  well  as  any- 
thing else." 

"  I  will  not  agree  to  that.    It's  preposterous." 

"  I  don't  mean  her  entire  wardrobe.  Just  the  go- 
ing-away  gown  and  hat.  You  can't  very  well  ask 
her  to  weigh  herself  without  any — But  as  gentlemen 
we  need  not  pursue  the  matter  any  farther.  You 
shall  have  your  way  about  it." 

"  She  has  a  new  pair  of  scales  in  her  bedroom. 
She  weighs  herself  every  night  for  her  own  grati- 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD  213 

fication.  I  don't  see  why  she  can't  do  it  once  or  twice 
for  my  sake." 

"  But  women  are  such  dreadful  liars  about  their 
own  weight.  She'll  be  sure  to  lop  off  fifteen  or  twenty 
pounds  in  the  telling.  Hang  it,  I  want  witnesses." 

The  General  assumed  a  look  of  distress.  "  Re- 
member, sir,  that  you  are  speaking  of  your  future 
wife.  You'll  have  to  take  her  word." 

Eddie  slumped  down  in  his  chair,  muttering  some- 
thing about  niggardliness. 

"  I  suppose  I'll  have  to  concede  the  point."  His 
eyes  twinkled.  "  I  say,  it  would  be  a  horrible  shock 
to  you,  General,  if  she  were  to  refuse  me  to-night." 

"  She  sha — won't!  "  said  the  General,  setting  his 
jaw,  but  turning  a  shade  paler.  "  She'll  jump  at  the 
chance." 

Eddie  sighed  dismally.  "Doesn't  it  really  seem 
awful  to  you  ?  " 

"  Having  you  for  a  son-in-law?    Yes." 

"  You  know  I'm  only  doing  this  because  I  want  to 
set  up  in  business  for  myself  and  need  the  money," 
explained  the  groom-elect  in  an  effort  to  justify  him- 
self. "  Oh,  another  little  point.  I'd  almost  forgot- 
ten it.  I  suppose  it  will  be  perfectly  convenient  for 
us  to  live  with  you  for  a  year  or  two,  until  I — " 

"  No  !  "  thundered  the  General.  «  Not  by  a  long 
shot !  You  go  to  housekeeping  at  once,  do  you  under- 
stand?" 

"  But  think  of  her  poor  mother's  feelings — " 

"  Her  mother  has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  it, 
sir.  See  here,  we'll  put  that  in  the  contract."  He 


214  HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

was  visibly  disturbed  by  the  thought  of  what  the 
oversight  might  have  meant  to  him.  "  And  now,  when 
shall  we  have  the  wedding?  " 

"  Perhaps  we'd  better  leave  that  to  Martha." 

"  We'll  leave  nothing  to  anybody." 

"  She'll  want  to  get  a  trousseau  together  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing.  I'm  ready  to  go  through  with  it 
at  any  time,  but  you  know  what  girls  are."  He  was 
perspiring. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  General  with  a  reminiscent  light 
in  his  eye.  "  I  daresay  they  all  enjoy  a  few  weeks  of 
courtship  and  love-making." 

Eddie  gulped  suddenly  and  then  shot  a  quick, 
hunted  look  toward  the  buffet  door. 

"  Have  a  drink?  "  demanded  the  other  abruptly. 
He  had  caught  the  sign  of  danger. 

They  strolled  into  the  buffet,  arm-in-arm,  one  lov- 
ing the  world  in  general,  the  other  hating  everybody 
in  it,  including  the  General.  Before  they  parted 
Eddie  Ten  Eyck  extracted  a  solemn  promise  from  his 
future  step-father-in-law  that  he  would  ascertain 
Martha's  exact  weight  and  report  the  figure  to  him 
on  the  following  day. 

"  It  will  seem  easier  if  I  know  just  about  what  to 
expect,"  explained  the  young  man. 

That  very  afternoon  the  General,  with  a  timidity 
that  astonished  him,  requested  his  step-daughter  to 
report  her  correct  weight  to  him  on  the  following 
morning.  He  kept  his  face  well  screened  behind  his 
newspaper  while  speaking,  and  his  voice  was  a  little 
thick. 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD  215 

"What  for,  father?"  asked  Martha,  looking  up 
from  her  book  in  surprise.  Her  eyes  seemed  to  grow 
even  larger  than  the  lenses  of  her  spectacles. 

"  Why,  you  see — er — I'm  figuring  on  a  little  more 
insurance,"  he  stammered. 

"  What  has  my  weight  to  do  with  it?  " 

"  It  isn't  life  insurance,"  he  made  haste  to  explain. 
A  bright  idea  struck  him.  "  It  is  fire  insurance,  my 
dear." 

"  I  don't  see  what  my — " 

"  Of  course  you  don't,"  he  interrupted  genially. 
"  It's  this  way.  The  fire  insurance  companies  are 
getting  absurdly  finicky  about  the  risks.  Now  they 
insist  on  knowing  the  weight  of  every  inmate  of  the 
houses  they  insure.  Has  something  to  do  with  the 
displacement  of  oxygen,  I  believe.  Your  mother  and 
I — and  the  servants,  too — expect  to  be  weighed  to- 
night." 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  and  resumed  her  reading. 

He  waited  for  a  while,  fumbling  nervously  with  his 
watch  chain. 

"  By  the  way,  my  dear,"  he  said,  "  what  have  you 
been  doing  to  that  bully  chap,  Eddie  Ten  Eyck?  " 

"  Doing  to  him?    What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Just  what  I  say." 

"I  haven't  seen  the  miserable  loafer  in  months," 
she  said.  Her  voice  was  heavy,  not  unlike  that  of  a 
man.  For  some  reason  she  shuffled  uneasily  in  her 
chair.  The  book  dropped  into  her  capacious 
lap. 

"You've  been  doing  something  behind  my  back, 


216  HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

you  sly  minx,"  he  chided.  "  What  do  you  think  hap- 
pened to-day  ?  " 

"To  Eddie  Ten  Eyck?  " 

"  In  a  way,  yes.  He  came  up  to  me  in  the  Club 
and  asked  my  permission  to  pay — er — court  to  you, 
my  dear.  He  said  he  loved  you  better  than —  Hey ! 
Look  out  there!  What  the  dev—  Hi,  Mother! 
Come  here  quick!  Good  Heaven,  she's  going  to 
die!" 

Poor  Martha  had  collapsed  in  a  heap,  her  arms 
dangling  limply  over  the  side  of  the  chair,  her  eyes 
bulging  and  blinking  in  a  most  grotesque  manner. 
At  first  glance  one  would  have  sworn  she  was  stran- 
gling. Afterwards  the  General  denounced  himself  as 
an  unmitigated  idiot  for  having  given  her  such  a 
shock.  He  ought  to  have  known  better. 

Mrs.  Gamble  rushed  downstairs  in  great  alarm, 
and  it  was  not  long  before  they  had  Martha  breath- 
ing naturally,  although  the  General  almost  made 
that  an  impossibility  by  the  ruthless  manner  in  which 
he  fanned  her  with  the  very  book  she  had  been  read- 
ing— a  heavy  volume  which  he  neglected  to  open. 

The  whirligig  room  reduced  itself  to  a  library  for 
Martha  once  more,  not  so  monotonous  as  it  once 
had  been,  no  doubt,  i.  . ,  still  a  library.  Out  of  the 
turmoil  of  her  OTTH  emotions,  she  managed  to  grasp 
enough  of  what  the  General  was  saying  to  convince 
herself  that  this  was  not  another  dream  but  a  reality, 
and  she  became  so  excited  that  her  mother  advkod  aer 
to  go  to  bed  for  a  while  before  dinner,  if  she  expected 
to  appear  at  her  best  when  Eddie  arrived. 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD  217 

For  the  first  time  since  early  childhood,  Martha 
blushed  as  she  attempted  to  trip  lightly  upstairs. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  did  trip  on  next  to  the  top 
step  and  sprawled.  Under  ordinary  circumstances 
she  would  have  been  as  mad  as  a  wet  hen,  but  on  this 
happy  occasion  she  merely  cried  out,  when  her  par- 
ents dashed  into  the  hall  below  on  hearing  the  crash : 

"  It's  good  luck  to  fall  upstairs !  " 

The  fires  of  life  had  been  rekindled,  and  when  such 
a  thing  happens  to  a  person  of  Martha's  horse-power, 
the  effect  is  astonishing.  At  four  o'clock  she  began 
dressing  for  the  coming  suitor.  When  he  arrived  at 
seven,  she  was  still  trying  to  decide  whether  her  hair 
looked  better  by  itself  or  with  augmentations. 

Below,  in  the  huge  library,  Eddie  Ten  Eyck  sat  dis- 
consolate, nervously  contemplating  the  immediate  fu- 
ture. He  was  all  alone.  Not  even  a  servant  was  to 
be  seen  or  heard.  It  was  as  still  as  the  Christmas 
Eve  whose  jingle  we  love  so  well. 

Never  in  all  his  aimless  existence  had  he  felt  so 
small,  so  unimportant,  so  put-upon  as  at  this  moment. 
His  gaze,  sweeping  the  ceiling  of  the  library,  tried  to 
penetrate  to  the  sacred  precincts  above.  Even  the 
riches  and  the  stateliness  of  the  Gamble  mansion 
failed  to  reimburse  his  fancy  for  the  losses  it  was  sus- 
taining with  each  succeeding  minute  of  suspense. 
Dimly  he  recalled  that  General  Gamble  had  spent 
nearly  half  a  million  dollars  in  the  jconstruction  of 
this  imposing  edifice.  The  library  was  worth  more 
than  one  hundred  thousand  dollars ;  the  stables  were 
stocked  with  innumerable  thoroughbreds ;  the  landed 


218  HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

estate  was  measured  by  sections  instead  of  acres ; 
the  stocks  and  bonds  were —  But  even  as  he  con- 
sidered the  question  of  assets,  there  surged  up  before 
him  an  overwhelming  liability  that  brought  the  Gen- 
eral's books  to  balance. 

By  this  time,  Eddie  had  become  so  proficient  in  the 
art  of  rapid  calculation  that  he  could  estimate  within 
a  few  ounces  just  what  a  person  would  have  to 
weigh  in  order  to  be  worth  as  much  as  the  library,  the 
mansion,  or  the  bonds.  The  great  Gainsborough 
that  hung  in  the  west  end  of  the  room  corresponded 
in  value  (if  reports  were  true  concerning  the  price 
Gamble  had  asked  for  it)  to  a  woman  weighing  a 
shade  over  two  hundred  and  three  pounds  troy. 

He  lifted  a  handsome  bronze  figure  from  the  library 
table  and  murmured :  "  It's  worth  a  ten-pound  baby, 
twenty-two  hundred  dollars  and  a  fraction." 

The  General  came  in,  followed  closely  by  the  butler, 
who  bore  a  tray  holding  at  least  ten  cocktails.  After 
the  greetings,  Eddie  glanced  uneasily  at  the  cocktails. 

"  Is — is  it  to  be  as  big  a  dinner  as  all  this  ?  "  he 
asked  ruefully. 

"Oh,  no.  Just  family,  my  boy;  we  four.  The 
women  don't  drink,  Eddie,  so  help  yourself." 

Eddie  gratefully  swallowed  three  in  rapid  suc- 
cession. 

"  I  see  you  mean  to  make  it  absolutely  necessary 
for  me  to  take  the  gold  cure,"  he  said  with  a  forlorn 
smile. 

Martha  put  in  an  appearance  at  seven-thirty,  hav- 
ing kept  dinner  waiting  for  half  an  hour,  much  to  the 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD  219 

amazement  of  those  who  had  lived  with  her  long 
enough  to  know  her  promptness  in  appearing  for 
meals. 

Mr.  Ten  Eyck,  who  was  a  rather  good-looking 
chap  and  fastidious  to  a  degree,  did  not  possess  the 
strength  to  keep  his  heart  anywhere  near  the  cus- 
tomary leveL  It  went  hurtling  to  his  very  boots.  He 
shook  hands  with  the  blushing  young  woman  and  then 
involuntarily  shrank  toward  the  cocktails,  disre- 
garding the  certainty  that  he  would  find  them  luke- 
warm and  tasteless. 

She  was  gotten  up  for  the  occasion.  But,  as  it 
was  not  her  costume  that  he  was  to  embrace  in  matri- 
mony, we  will  omit  a  description  of  the  creation  she 
wore.  It  was  pink,  of  course,  and  cut  rather  low  in 
order  to  protect  her  face  from  the  impudent  gaze  of 
man. 

Her  face?  Picture  the  face  of  the  usual  heroine 
in  fiction  and  then  contrive  to  think  of  the  most  per- 
fect antithesis,  and  you  have  Martha  in  your  mind's 
eye  much  more  clearly  than  through  any  description 
I  could  hope  to  present. 

She  was  squat.  Her  somewhat  brawny  shoulders 
sloped  downward  and  forward — and  perhaps  a  little 
sidewise,  I  am  not  sure  about  that.  Her  hair  was 
straw-coloured  and  stringy  in  spite  of  the  labour  she 
had  expended  on  it  with  curling-iron  and  brush.  As 
to  her  face,  the  more  noticeable  features  were  a  very 
broad,  flat  nose,  a  comparatively  chinless  under  jaw, 
on  which  grew  an  accidental  wisp  of  hair  or  two ;  a 
narrow  and  permanently  decorated  upper  lip.  When 


220  HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

she  smiled — well,  the  effect  was  discouraging,  to  say 
the  least.  Her  eyes  were  pale  and  prominent.  In 
spite  of  all  this,  practice  in  rouging  might  have  helped 
her  a  little,  but  she  had  had  no  practice.  Young  men 
never  came  to  the  house,  and  it  was  not  worth  while 
to  keep  up  appearances  for  the  old  ones  who  were 
content  to  dodder  at  the  end  of  the  way.  You  would 
say  at  a  glance  that  she  was  a  very  strong  and  endur- 
ing person,  somewhat  along  the  lines  of  a  suffragette 
ward  politician. 

The  dinner  was  a  genial  one,  after  all.  The  Gen- 
eral was  at  his  best,  and  the  wine  was  perfect.  In 
lucid  moments,  Eddie  found  himself  reflecting :  "  If 
I  can  drink  enough  of  this  I'll  have  delirium  tremens 
and  then  I  won't  have  to  believe  all  that  I  see." 

Martha  had  always  called  him  Eddie.  In  fact, 
every  one  called  him  Eddie.  He  was  that  sort  of  a 
chap.  To-night,  he  observed,  with  a  hazy  interest, 
she  addressed  him  as  Mr.  Ten  Eyck,  and  rather  fre- 
quently, at  that.  It  was :  "  Do  you  really  think 
so,  Mr.  Ten  Eyck?"  or  "How  very  amusing,  Mr. 
Ten  Eyck,"  or  "Good  gracious,  Mr.  Ten  Eyck," 
until  poor  Eddie,  unused  to  this  distinction,  reached 
a  point  where  he  muttered  something  in  way  of  pro- 
test that  caused  the  General  to  cough  violently  in 
order  to  give  his  guest  a  chance  to  recover  himself  be- 
fore it  was  too  late. 

After  dinner  the  General  and  Mrs.  Gamble  retired 
somewhat  precipitously,  leaving  the  young  people 
alone. 

Eddie  heaved  a  tremendous  sigh  of  decision  and 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD  221 

bravely  crossed  the  room.  Martha  was  seated  upon 
the  davenport,  nervously  toying  with  her  fan.  He 
saw  with  misgiving  that  she  evidently  expected  some- 
thing was  going  to  happen.  Her  eyes  were  down- 
cast. 

He  stood  silent  and  somewhat  awed  before  her  many 
minutes,  taking  the  final  puffs  at  an  abbreviated  cig- 
arette. Then  he  abruptly  sat  down  at  the  opposite 
end  of  the  couch.  As  he  did  so,  she  thought  she 
heard  him  mutter  something  about  "  one  hundred 
and  seventy,  at  the  lowest." 

"  So  many  people  have  given  up  playing  golf, 
Mr.  Ten  Eyck,"  she  said.  "  I  am  surprised  that  you 
keep  it  up." 

"  Golf?  "  he  murmured  blankly. 

"  Weren't  you  speaking  of  your  score  for  the  eigh- 
teen holes?" 

He  gazed  at  her  helplessly  for  a  moment,  then  set 
his  jaw. 

"  Say,  Martha,"  he  began,  in  a  high  and  unnaturel 
treble,  "  I  am  a  man  of  few  words.  Will  you  marry 
me?  Oh!  Ouch!  What  the  dickens  are  you  doing? 
O— oh !  Don't  jump  at  me  like  that !  " 

The  details  are  painful  and  it  isn't  necessary  to 
go  into  them.  Suffice  it  to  say,  she  told  him  that  he 
had  always  been  her  ideal  and  that  she  had  wor- 
shipped him  from  childhood's  earliest  days.  He,  on 
the  other  hand,  confessed,  with  more  truth  than  she 
could  have  guessed,  that  he  had  but  recently  come  to 
a  realisation  of  her  true  worth,  and  what  she  really 
meant  to  him. 


222  HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

She  set  the  wedding  day  for  November  the  eleventh, 
— just  seven  weeks  off. 

Before  leaving, — she  kept  him  until  nearly  twelve, 
— he  playfully  came  up  behind  her  as  she  stood  near 
the  table,  and,  placing  his  hands  under  her  elbows, 
said: 

"  Hold  'em  stiff  now." 

Then,  to  her  amazement,  he  tried  to  lift  her  from 
the  floor.  He  couldn't  budge  her. 

"  It's  all  right,"  he  exclaimed  exultantly  and  re- 
fused to  explain. 

That  night  in  his  dreams  an  elephant  came  along 
and  stood  for  a  while  on  his  chest,  but  he  was  used 
to  it  by  that  time,  and  didn't  mind. 

The  next  morning,  General  Gamble  reported  by 
telephone  that  Martha  weighed  one  hundred  and 
sixty-eight  pounds  and  nine  ounces.  A  minute  later, 
Eddie  was  at  his  desk  calculating. 

On  the  twenty-third  of  September  she  weighed  two 
thousand  and  twenty-five  ounces  troy.  At  nineteen 
dollars  and  twenty  cents  an  ounce  she  was  then  worth 
$38,880.  With  any  sort  of  luck,  he  figured,  she 
might  be  expected  to  pick  up  a  few  pounds  as  the  re- 
sult of  her  new-found  happiness  and  peace  of  mind. 
Her  worries  were  practically  over.  Contented  people 
always  put  on  flesh.  If  everything  went  well,  she 
ought  to  represent  at  least  $40,000  on  her  wedding 
day.  Perhaps  more. 

He  haunted  the  Country  Club  by  day  and  the  town 
clubs  by  night,  always  preoccupied  and  figuring,  much 
to  the  astonishment  of  his  friends  and  cronies.  He 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD  223 

scribbled  inexplicable  figures  on  the  backs  of  golf 
cards,  bar  checks,  and  menus. 

By  the  end  of  the  first  week  he  had  made  definite 
promises  to  all  of  his  creditors.  He  guaranteed  that 
every  one  should  be  paid  before  the  middle  of  Novem- 
ber. Moreover,  he  set  aside  in  his  calculations  the 
sum  of  $7,000  for  the  purchase  of  a  new  house.  Early 
in  the  second  week  he  had  virtually  expended  $15,- 
000  of  what  he  expected  to  receive,  and  was  giving 
thanks  for  increased  opportunities. 

He  called  at  the  Gamble  house  regularly,  even 
faithfully.  True,  he  urged  Martha  to  play  on  the 
piano  nearly  all  of  the  time,  but  to  all  intents  and 
purposes  it  was  courtship. 

When  the  engagement  was  announced,  the  town — 
in  utter  ignorance  of  the  conspiracy — went  into  con- 
vulsions. The  half-dozen  old  maids  in  upper  cir- 
cles who  had  long  since  given  up  hope  began  to  prink 
and  perk  themselves  into  an  amazing  state  of  reju- 
venation,— revival,  you  might  say.  They  tortured 
themselves  with  the  hope  that  never  dies.  They  even 
lent  money  to  impecunious  gentlemen  who  couldn't 
believe  their  senses  and  went  about  pinching  them- 
selves. 

Eddie  Ten  Eyck's  credit  was  so  good  that  he  suc- 
ceeded in  borrowing  nearly  five  thousand  dollars  from 
erstwhile  adamantine  sceptics. 

One  day  the  General  met  him  in  the  street.  The 
old  soldier  wore  a  troubled  look. 

"She's  sick."  he  said  without  preamble.  "  Got 
pains  all  over  her  and  chills,  too." 


224  HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

"  Is  it  serious  ?  "  demanded  Eddie. 

"I  don't  know.  Neither  does  the  doctor.  He's 
waiting  for  developments.  Took  a  culture  to-day. 
She's  in  bed,  however." 

"  She  must  not  die,"  said  Eddie,  a  desperate 
gleam  in  his  eye.  "  I — can't  afford  to  have  any- 
thing like  that  happen  now.  Can't  she  be  vacci- 
nated? " 

At  the  end  of  the  second  day  thereafter  it  was 
known  all  over  town  that  Martha  Gamble  was  ill  with 
typhoid  fever.  She  was  running  a  temperature  of 
104  degrees  and  two  doctors  had  come  up  from  New 
York  to  consult  with  the  Essex  physician,  bringing 
with  them  a  couple  of  trained  nurses.  They  said  her 
heart  was  good.  » 

After  the  consultation,  the  General  and  Eddie 
sat  alone  in  the  library,  woebegone  and  disconso- 
late. 

"  They  think  they  can  pull  her  through,"  said  the 
former  vaguely. 

"  Curse  'em,"  grated  Eddie ;  "  they've  got  to  do  it. 
If  there  is  the  least  prospect  of  her  dying,  General,  I 
must  insist  that  the  wedding  day  be  moved  forward. 
I'll — I'll  marry  her  to-day.  By  Jove,  it  might  go  a 
long  way  toward  reducing  her  temperature." 

"  Impossible !  We  shall  stick  to  the  original  agree- 
ment." 

"  Confound  you,  I  believe  you  are  hoping  she'll 
die  before  the  eleventh  of  November.  It  would  be  just 
like  you,  General  Gamble." 

"I'm  not  hoping  for  anything  of  the  sort,  sir," 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD  225 

thundered  the  other.  "  But,  if  it  should  happen — " 
He  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  but  there  was  a  green 
light  in  his  eyes. 

Eddie  was  silent  for  many  minutes. 

"  And  if  she  should  die,  where  do  I  come  in,  or  get 
off,  or  whatever  is  the  proper  thing  to  say  in  the  cir- 
cumstances ?  It  wouldn't  be  fair  to  me,  General  Gam- 
ble. You  know  it  wouldn't.  It  would  be  a  damned 
outrage.  Here  am  I,  a  devoted  lover,  eager  to  make 
her  happy — to  make  her  last  moments  happy  ones, 
mind  you,  and  you  sit  there  and  deny  her  the  con- 
solation of — " 

"  All's  fair  in  love,  my  boy,"  said  the  General 
blandly. 

"Rats!" 

"  Martha  wasn't  strong  enough  to  stand  the  ex- 
citement. It  was  like  a  sudden  and  frightful  change 
in  the  weather.  Her  constitution  couldn't  fight  it 
off." 

"  Constitution  ?    Good  Lord !  " 

"  We  ought  to  make  allowances,  my  boy." 

"  I  am  in  no  position  to  make  allowances.  Are 
these  doctors  any  good?  " 

"  The  best  in  New  York  City." 

"  And  the  nurses  ?  Everything  depends  on  good 
nursing." 

"  They  are  real  Canadians." 

"  General,  up  to  the  time  I  was  eleven  years  old  I 
said  my  prayers  every  night.  I'm  going  to  begin 
again  to-night,"  said  Eddie  solemnly,  as  he  passed 
his  hand  across  his  brow. 


226  HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

The  days  went  by  with  monotonous  similarity. 
Bright  or  dark,  wet  or  dry,  they  looked  the  same  to 
Eddie  Ten  Eyck.  At  first  he  had  been  permitted 
to  visit  her  once  or  twice  a  day,  staying  for  a  few 
minutes  on  each  occasion.  After  a  while  the  visits 
were  stopped  by  the  doctor's  order.  But  still  he 
haunted  the  Gamble  mansion.  He  waylaid  the  doctor ; 
he  bribed  or  coerced  the  nurses ;  he  watched  the  sick- 
room door  with  the  eye  of  a  hungry  dog;  he  partook 
inordinately  of  the  General's  liquors.  Martha  was 
delirious,  that  much  he  was  able  to  gather  by  per- 
sistent inquiry.  She  seemed  obsessed  with  the  idea 
that  she  and  Eddie  were  to  keep  house  in  Heaven, 
with  two  cherubs  and  a  hypodermic  syringe. 

Mrs.  Gamble  was  deeply  touched  and  not  a  little 
surprised  by  the  devotion  of  her  daughter's  fiance. 
She  turned  to  him  in  these  hours  of  despair  and  gave 
to  him  a  large  share  of  her  pity  and  consolation. 
She  asked  him  to  pray  for  Martha.  He  said  he 
had  been  praying  for  some  one  else  nearly  all  his  life, 
but  henceforth  would  put  in  a  word  for  Martha. 

The  wedding  day  was  near  at  hand  when  an  unex- 
pected and  alarming  complication  set  in.  The  doc- 
tors were  hurriedly  gathered  in  consultation.  There 
was  a  crisis.  One  of  the  nurses  confided  to  Mr.  Ten 
Eyck  that  there  was  no  hope,  but  the  other  declared 
that  if  the  patient  survived  the  eighth  of  November 
she  would  "  be  out  of  the  woods."  The  eighth  was 
three  days  off.  Those  three  days  were  spent  by  Ed- 
die in  a  state  of  fearful  suspense.  He  implored  Prov- 
idence and  Fate  to  stand  by  him  until  after  the  elev- 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD  227 

enth.  He  went  so  far  as  to  add  a  couple  of  days  to 
include  the  thirteenth,  not  being  superstitious.  The 
night  of  the  eighth  was  a  memorable  one.  No  one  in 
the  Gamble  house  went  to  bed.  The  ninth  came  and 
then  the  doctors  appeared  with  glad  tidings.  The 
crisis  was  past  and  there  was  every  chance  in  the 
world  for  the  patient  to  recover,  unless  of  course, 
some  unforeseen  complication  intervened. 

Eddie  staggered  out  to  the  stables  and  performed 
a  dance  of  joy. 

"  What's  her  temperature  ?  "  he  demanded  of  one 
of  the  grooms,  absently  repeating  a  question  he  had 
asked  five  thousand  times  during  the  past  few  weeks. 
"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Smith."  Then  he  hurried  back 
to  the  house.  Meeting  one  of  the  doctors  he  gripped 
him  by  the  arm. 

"  Is  she  sure  to  live,  doc — doctor?  " 

"  Forever,"  said  the  doctor,  meaning  to  comfort 
him. 

"  No !  "  gasped  Eddie. 

"  Let  me  congratulate  you,  Mr.  Ten  Eyck.  She 
is  quite  rational  now  and — pardon  me  if  I  repeat  a 
sick-room  secret — she  declares  that  there  shall  be  no 
postponement  of  the  wedding.  She  is  superstitious 
about  postponements." 

Eddie  hesitated.    "  Ahem !    Is — is  she  emaciated?  " 

"  No  more  than  might  be  expected." 

"  I — I  hope  she  hasn't  wasted  very  much." 

"  Skin  and  bones,"  said  the  doctor  with  the  most 
professional  bluntness. 

Eddie  mopped  his  brow.     "  You — you  don't  mean 


228  HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

it!  See  here,  doctor,  you  ought  to  advise  very 
strongly  against  the — er — marriage  at  this  time. 
Tell  her  it  would  kill  her.  The  shock,  I  mean.  I  am 
willing  to  wait — God  knows,  I  am  only  too  willing  to 
wait — until  she  is  strong  and  well  and  herself  once 
more.  Tell  her— " 

"  Perhaps  you  would  better  talk  it  over  with  her 
father,  Mr.  Ten  Eyck.  I  am  not — " 

"  Her  father—"  began  Eddie,  but  caught  himself 
up. 

"  I  would  not  answer  for  her  safety  if  a  postpone- 
ment were  even  suggested.  Her  heart  is  set  on  it,  my 
dear  fellow.  She  will  be  strong  enough  to  go  through 
with  it." 

"  But  I  want  to  be  married  in  church." 

"  I  daresay  you  will  agree  with  me  when  I  say  that 
your  feelings  are  not  to  be  considered  in  a  crisis  of 
this  kind,"  said  the  doctor  coldly,  and  moved  away. 

At  noon  on  the  eleventh  Martha  awoke  from  a 
sound  and  restful  sleep.  Sweet  lassitude  enveloped 
her,  but  her  mind  went  groping  for  something  that 
had  been  troubling  her  in  a  vague  sort  of  way  for  the 
last  forty-eight  hours. 

"  Is  it  the  eleventh?  "  she  whispered,  stretching  out 
her  hand  to  the  watchful  nurse. 

"  Yes,  my  dear.    Now  try  to  go  to  sleep  again — " 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Ten  Eyck?  " 

«  Sh ! " 

"What  time  is  it?" 

"  Now  don't  worry  about  the  time — " 

"Is  it  night  or  day?" 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD  229 

"It  is  noon." 

"  I  am  to  be  married  at  eight  o'clock  this  evening, 
Miss  Feeney." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know,"  soothingly. 

"  You  might  send  word  to  Mr.  Ten  Eyck  that  I 
shall  be  ready.  He  may  forget  the  ring  unless  you 
tell  him  that — there — is — to  be — no  post — "  She 
went  to  sleep  in  the  middle  of  postponement. 

While  the  nurses  were  preparing  her  for  the  cere- 
mony, General  Gamble  sent  word  into  the  sick-room 
that  the  doctor  desired  her  correct  weight — for 
scientific  purposes. 

The  patient,  too  weak  to  help  herself,  was  lifted 
upon  the  scales,  where  she  remained  long  enough  for 
it  to  be  seen  that  she  weighed  seventy-three  pounds 
and  eight  ounces.  She  was  then  hustled  into  bed,  but 
seemed  to  be  in  even  better  spirits  than  before,  con- 
fiding to  the  nurses  that  she  knew  Mr.  Ten  Eyck  was 
partial  to  slender  women,  and  that  if  she  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  it  she'd  never  weigh  more  than  one 
hundred  and  ten  again,  "  as  long  as  she  lived." 

"  One  hundred  and  ten  is  a  lovely  weight,  don't  you 
think,  Miss  Feeney?  "  she  asked. 

Miss  Feeney  was  feeling  her  pulse.  The  other 
nurse  was  trying  to  stick  a  mouth  thermometer  be- 
tween the  patient's  lips. 

"  It  is  a  much  lovelier  weight  than  seventy-three," 
said  Miss  Feeney  gently. 

The  General,  in  the  privacy  of  his  bed-chamber, 
reduced  the  pounds  to  ounces  and  found  that  Martha, 
in  her  present  state,  represented  eight  hundred  and 


230  HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

eighty-four  ounces.  He  could  not  suppress  a  chuckle, 
even  though  he  felt  very  mean  about  it.  She  was 
worth  $16,972  in  gold.  Her  illness  had  cost  him 
approximately  $2,000  in  doctors'  fees,  et  cetera,  but 
it  had  cost  Eddie  Ten  Eyck  $21,911  in  pure  gold, 
with  twenty  cents  over  in  silver. 

It  is  said  that  the  bridegroom  almost  collapsed 
when  he  looked  for  the  first  time  upon  his  emaciated 
investment.  It  was  worse  than  he  had  expected.  She 
was  literally  "  skin  and  bones." 

Mechanically,  semi-paralysed,  he  made  the  re- 
sponses to  the  almost  staccato  words  of  the  clergy- 
man. The  ceremony  was  hurried  through  at  a  lively 
rate,  but  to  Eddie  it  seemed  to  take  hours.  Her 
fingers  felt  like  a  closed  fan  in  his  own  pulseless  hand. 
He  replied  "I  do"  and  "I  will"  without  really 
being  aware  of  the  fact,  and  all  the  time  he  was 
gazing  blankly  at  her,  trying  to  remember  where  he 
had  seen  her  before. 

Away  back  in  the  dim,  forgotten  ages  there  was  a 
robust,  squat,  valuable  figure ;  but — this !  His  brain 
reeled.  He  was  being  married  to  an  utter  stranger. 
His  loss  was  incalculable. 

We  will  speed  over  the  ensuing  months.  It  goes 
without  saying  that  Martha  became  well  and  strong 
and  abominably  vigorous  in  the  matter  of  appetite. 
Her  days  of  convalescence —  But  why  go  into  them  ? 
They  are  interesting  only  to  the  person  who  is  emer- 
ging from  a  period  of  suffering  and  fasting.  Why 
dwell  upon  the  reflections  of  Eddie  Ten  Eyck  as  he 
saw  an  erstwhile  stranger  transformed  into  an  old 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD  231 

acquaintance  before  his  very  eyes?  Why  go  into  the 
painful  details  attending  the  stealthy  payment  of 
nearly  $17,000  by  the  party  of  the  first  part  to  the 
party  of  the  second  part,  and  why  tell  of  the  uses  to 
which  the  latter  was  compelled  to  put  this  meagre 
fortune  almost  immediately  after  acquiring  it?  No 
one  cares  to  be  harassed  by  these  miserable,  mawkish 
details. 

One  really  needs  to  know  but  one  thing:  the  bride- 
groom soon  stood  shorn  of  all  his  ill-gotten  gains,  un- 
less we  except  the  wife  of  whom  no  form  of  adversity 
could  rob  him. 

A  month  after  the  wedding,  Eddie  was  eagerly 
awaiting  the  fourth  quarterly  instalment  of  his  al- 
lowance. He  was  out  of  debt,  it  is  true,  but  he  never 
had  been  poorer  in  all  his  life.  The  thing  that  ap- 
palled him  most  was  the  fact  that  he  had  unlimited 
credit  and  did  not  possess  the  courage  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  it.  He  could  have  borrowed  right  and 
left ;  he  could  have  run  up  stupendous  accounts ;  he 
could  have  lived  like  a  lord.  But  Martha,  before  she 
was  really  able  to  sit  up  in  bed,  began  to  talk  about 
something  in  a  cottage, — something  that  made  him 
turn  pale  with  desperation, — and  bread  and  cheese 
and  kisses,  entirely  with  an  eye  to  thrift  and  what 
Eddie  considered  a  nose  for  squalor.  He  couldn't 
imagine  anything  more  squalid  than  a  subsistence  on 
the  three  commodities  mentioned.  In  fact,  he  pre- 
ferred starvation. 

Martha  harped  for  hours  at  a  stretch  on  how 
economically  she  could  conduct  their  small  establish- 


232  HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

ment,  once  they  got  into  the  house  he  had  bound  him- 
self to  buy  in  his  days  of  affluence.  She  seemed  to 
take  it  for  granted  that  she  would  be  obliged  to  skimp 
and  pinch  in  order  to  get  along  on  what  Eddie  would 
be  able  to  earn. 

"  Our  meat  and  grocery  bills  will  be  almost  noth- 
ing, Eddie  dear,"  she  said  one  day,  with  an  enthusiasm 
that  discouraged  him.  "  You  see,  I  mean  to  keep  my 
figure,  now  that  I've  got  it.  I  sha'n't  eat  a  thing 
for  days  at  a  time.  We'll  have  no  meat,  nor  potatoes, 
nor  sugar —  " 

"  Just  bread  and  cheese,"  said  he  wanly. 

"  And  something  else,"  she  added  coquettishly. 

"Kisses  are  fattening,"  he  said. 

"  Goodness !  Who  ever  told  you  that?  "  she  cried 
in  dismay. 

"  A  well-known  specialist,"  he  said,  his  mind  adrift. 

"  Well,  there  is  one  thing  sure,  Eddie,"  she  de- 
clared firmly ;  "  we  will  not  go  into  debt  for  anything. 
We  positively  must  keep  out  of  debt.  I  won't  have 
you  worrying  about  money  matters." 

"  I'm  not  likely  to,"  said  he  with  conviction. 

He  then  began  to  watch  for  signs  of  decrepitude 
in  the  General. 

As  soon  as  Martha  was  strong  enough  to  travel, 
her  step-father  suggested  that  they  go  South  for  the 
winter  instead  of  opening  the  little  house  down  the 
street.  He  went  so  far  as  to  offer  to  pay  the  ex- 
penses of  the  trip  as  a  sort  of  belated  wedding 
gift. 

Eddie  objected.    He  said  that  his  real  estate  busi- 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD  233 

ness  was  in  such  a  state  that  he  couldn't  afford  to 
leave  it  for  a  day. 

"  I  didn't  know  you  had  a  business,"  exclaimed  the 
General. 

"  I  am  making  arrangements  to  take  up  a  Govern- 
ment claim  in  Alaska,"  said  his  son-in-law  grimly. 

"  Great  Scott !  " 

"  I'm  going  to  some  place  where  I  can  dig  for 
gold." 

"  Are  you  in  earnest?  " 

"  Bitterly." 

"  And — and  would  you  subject  Martha  to  the 
rigours  of  an  Alaskan  winter  in — " 

"  Inasmuch  as  we  shall  have  to  subsist  on  snow- 
balls until  you  pass  in  your  cheques,  General,  I  think 
we'd  better  go  where  they  are  fresh  and  plentiful." 

Fortunately  for  the  bride  and  groom,  everybody 
that  was  anybody  in  Essex  gave  them  a  wedding 
present.  Not  a  few,  in  a  fever  of  exultation,  gave  be- 
yond their  means,  and  a  great  many  of  them  with 
unintentional  irony  gave  pickle  dishes.  By  the  time 
they  were  ready  to  go  into  their  new  home,  it  was 
cosily,  even  handsomely  furnished.  The  General,  con- 
trite of  heart,  spent  money  lavishly  in  trying  to  make 
the  home  so  attractive  for  Eddie  that  he  wouldn't  be 
likely  to  desert  it  for  something  worse. 

The  groom's  sense  of  humour  was  only  temporarily 
dulled.  He  noted  signs  of  its  awakening  when  he 
assisted  in  the  unpacking  of  four  cheval  mirrors, 
gifts  to  the  bride  from  persons  who  may  or  may  not 
have  been  in  collusion  but  who  certainly  wanted 


834.  HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

Martha  to  see  herself  as  others  saw  her,  and,  as  it 
turned  out,  from  all  sides. 

The  glow  of  health — an  almost  superhuman  health 
— increased  in  the  countenance  of  Mrs.  Edward  Ten 
Eyck.  Her  hair  was  a  bit  slow  in  restoring  itself, 
and  a  shade  or  two  darker,  but  on  the  other  hand, 
despite  all  she  could  do  to  prevent  it,  she  resumed  her 
natural  proportions  with  a  rapidity  that  was  sicken- 
ing. 

It  was  not  long  before  her  figure  was  unquestion- 
ably her  own. 

Eddie  tried  to  conceal  his  dismay.  He  even  tried 
to  drown  it.  Their  first  quarrel  grew -out  of  her 
objection  to  the  presence  of  intoxicating  liquors  in 
the  house. 

"  I  don't  approve  of  whiskey,"  she  said  flatly. 

"  But  you  had  it  at  your  house." 

*'  You  forget  that  he  was  only  my  step-father." 

"  He  isn't  in  the  past  tense  yet,"  said  he  bit- 
terly. 

"  I've  always  maintained  that  whiskey  should  be 
used  for  medicinal  purposes  only." 

"  Then  please  don't  worry  about  it,"  said  he  curtly. 
"  I've  ordered  a  barrel  of  it." 

"  For — for  medicinal  purposes  ?  " 

"  Strictly." 

She  studied  his  face  with  uneasy  alarm  in  her  eyes. 

"  You — don't  feel  as  though  you  were  going  to  be 
ill,  do  you,  dear?" 

He  moved  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  table,  in- 
voluntarily lifting  his  left  elbow  as  if  to  shield  him- 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD  235 

self.  She  stopped  half-way.  Then  he  laughed 
awkwardly  and  turned  the  subject. 

One  day  he  reached  the  startling  conclusion  that 
she  was  getting  heavier  than  she  had  ever  been  before. 
It  required  days  of  contemplation,  scrutiny,  and 
development  of  purpose  before  he  could  ask  her  to 
step  onto  the  scales  at  the  meat  market. 

A  cold  perspiration  started  on  his  forehead  as  he 
moved  the  balance  along  the  bar  and  found  it  would 
be  necessary  to  use  the  two-hundred  pound  weight 
instead  of  the  one-hundred,  the  fifty,  and  divers  small 
ones  that  had  been  sufficient  in  days  of  yore. 

She  weighed  two  hundred  and  three  pounds. 

At  nine  o'clock  that  night  some  one  took  him  home 
from  the  Essex  Club,  and  Martha  was  in  hysterics 
until  the  doctor,  summoned  with  haste  and  vehemence, 
assured  her  that  her  husband  was  not  dead. 

The  approach  of  springtime  found  Eddie  in  a 
noticeably  run-down  condition.  Friends  and  ac- 
quaintances began  to  remark  that  he  was  "  going  to 
seed  in  a  hurry,"  or  "  he's  awfully  run  down  at  the 
heel,"  or  "  I've  never  seen  such  a  change  in  a  man." 

He  was  no  longer  the  gay,  whilom,  inconsequent 
man  about  town.  The  best  proof  of  this  was  his 
utter  lack  of  pride  in  the  matter  of  dress  and  his 
carelessness  in  respect  to  his  personal  appearance. 
Once  he  had  been  the  beau-ideal  of  the  town.  Nowa- 
days he  slouched  about  the  streets  with  a  cigarette 
drooping  listlessly  between  his  lips,  his  face  unshaven, 
his  clothes  unpressed  and  dusty.  There  was  always 
a  hunted,  far-away  look  in  his  eyes. 


236  HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

Habitues  of  the  Club  began  to  notice  that  he  was 
once  more  making  mathematical  calculations  on  the 
backs  of  envelopes  or  the  margins  of  newspapers  and 
magazines.  No  one  pretended  to  explain  this  queer 
habit  of  his,  but  they  observed  that  his  efforts 
represented  sums  in  multiplication.  Occasionally,  as 
if  to  throw  them  off  the  track,  he  did  a  sum  in  sub- 
traction, and  there  were  frequent  lapses  into  sim- 
plified addition. 

It  was  noted,  however,  that  the  numerals  one,  nine, 
decimal,  two  and  a  cipher,  invariably  in  that  sequence, 
figured  somewhere  in  every  calculation. 

General  Gamble  could  have  solved  the  mystery,  but 
he  maintained  a  rigid  silence.  In  his  heart,  the  old 
schemer  nurtured  a  fear  that  sooner  or  later  Eddie 
would  commit  suicide  or  run  away,  either  of  which 
would  signify  the  return  of  Martha  to  the  mansion 
she  had  deserted  for  a  cottage.  And  he  knew  that  if 
she  ever  came  back  it  would  be  as  a  permanent  visitor. 

He  encountered  his  son-in-law  frequently  at  unex- 
pected times  and  in  unusual  places,  and  was  never 
without  the  feeling  that  the  young  man  eyed  him 
balefully.  He  could  feel  the  intensity  of  that  un- 
wavering gaze  for  hours  after  meeting  Eddie.  It  was 
an  ardent,  searching  look  that  seemed  to  question 
his  right  to  survive  the  day. 

After  such  meetings,  the  General  was  wont  to 
survey  himself  long  and  fearsomely  in  the  first  mirror 
or  show  window  that  presented  itself.  He  began  to 
wonder  if  he  was  in  failing  health.  At  times  he 
thought  he  discerned  signs  of  approaching  decrepi- 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD  237 

tude,  but  his  doctor  assured  him  that  he  was  never 
healthier  or  happier  than  he  appeared  to  be  at  this 
particular  period  in  his  life. 

Still,  he  could  not  shake  off  the  rather  ghastly  feel- 
ing that  Eddie  was  secretly  praying  that  his  days 
were  numbered. 

One  day  at  the  Club  he  complained  of  a  severe 
pain  in  his  back,  and  the  very  next  day  he  was 
shocked  to  find  his  son-in-law  dressed  in  sombre  black 
with  a  strip  of  crape  around  his  arm.  Immediately 
on  seeing  the  General  in  his  usual  state  of  health, 
Eddie  solemnly  removed  the  band  from  his  sleeve  and, 
carefully  rolling  it  up,  stuck  it  into  his  waistcoat 
pocket. 

"  I'm  saving  it  for  a  rainy  day,"  said  Eddie  with  a 
cold-blooded  smile. 

"  Good  Heaven !  "  said  the  General,  and  at  once 
felt  the  pain  return  to  his  back. 

"Have  you  seen  Martha  lately?"  asked  Eddie, 
tapping  the  bell  on  the  table. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  the  General,  settling  a  little  deeper 
into  his  chair.  "  She  is  looking  remarkably  well." 

"  Do  you  know  what  she  weighs  at  present?  " 

"  Of  course  not.  She  took  the  scales  over  to  your 
house.  Besides,  I  don't  care  a  hang." 

"  Day  before  yesterday  she  weighed  two  hundred 
and  ninety-eight  pounds."  His  voice  rose  to  a  shrill 
screech.  "  It's  a  blamed  outrage !  "  He  dropped 
his  chin  into  his  hands  and  went  on  muttering 
vaguely,  his  eyes  glued  to  the  top  button  of  the 
General's  waistcoat. 


238  HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

"  By  Jove,  she  is  doing  well." 

"  She  can  hardly  walk.  If  she  keeps  on,  she  won't 
be  able  to  see,  either.  Her  eyes  are  almost  lost.  I 
screwed  up  the  courage  to  take  a  long  look  at  her  to- 
day. She  has  lost  her  neck  entirely  and  I  haven't  the 
remotest  idea  where  her  ears  are." 

"I — I  do  feel  sorry  for  you,  Eddie,"  cried  the 
General,  moved  by  unexpected  compunction. 

Eddie  rambled  on.  "  Sometimes  I  sit  down  and 
actually  watch  her  grow.  You  can  notice  it  if  you 
look  steadily  for  a  given  time." 

The  two  sat  stiff  and  silent  for  many  minutes. 
Eddie  stole  a  sly  glance  at  his  companion's  ruddy 
face. 

"  You  are  a  remarkably  well  preserved  man,  Gen- 
eral," he  ventured  speculatively.  "  Would  you  mind 
telling  me  your  age?  " 

"  I  am  seventy-one,  Eddie,  if  it  is  any  encourage- 
ment to  you,"  said  the  General  eagerly. 

"  You  look  good  for  another  ten  years,"  said  Eddie 
hopelessly. 

"  I  am  a  little  worried  about  my  heart,"  prevari- 
cated the  General.  He  meant  to  be  magnanimous. 
Eddie  did  not  look  up,  but  his  eyes  began  to  blink 
rapidly.  "  There  is  heart  disease  in  the  family,  you 
know." 

"  Then  maybe  Martha  has — er — has — " 

"  Has  what,  my  son  ?  " 

"  I  forgot.  She  is  only  your  step-daughter.  I 
was  worried  for  a  moment,  that's  all." 

In  the  fall  of  the  year,  Eddie  announced  to  his 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD  239 

father-in-law  that  Martha  was  tipping  the  beam  at 
three  hundred  and  fourteen  pounds,  three  ounces,  and 
increasing  daily.  The  General  gave  vent  to  an  un- 
easy laugh,  whereupon  Eddie,  mistaking  his  motive, 
launched  into  a  tirade  that  ended  with  the  frantic 
wish  that  the  old  man  would  hurry  up  and  die. 

"  Now,  Eddie,  don't  talk  like  that !  I  have  about 
made  up  my  mind  to  do  something  handsome  for  you 
and  Martha.  I  have  practically  decided  to  make 
her  an  allowance  for  clothing  and  so  forth — " 

"  Clothing !  "  groaned  Eddie.  "  She  doesn't  want 
clothes.  What  could  she  do  with  'em?  I  am  the  one 
who  needs  clothes.  Look  at  me.  Look  at  the  frayed 
edges  and  see  how  I  shine  in  the  back.  There  is  a 
patch  or  two  that  you  can't  see.  I  put  those  patches 
on  myself,  too.  Martha  is  so  darned  fat  she  can't 
hold  a  pair  of  trousers  in  her  lap.  Moreover,  she 
can't  sew  with  anything  smaller  than  a  crochet  needle. 
Look  at  me!  I  am  growing  a  beard  so  that  people 
can't  see  my  Adam's  apple.  That's  how  poor  and 
thin  I'm  getting  to  be.  Now  just  listen  a  minute; 
I'll  give  you  a  few  figures  that  will  paralyse  you." 

He  jerked  out  his  lead  pencil  and  with  the  rapidity 
of  a  lightning  calculator  multiplied,  added,  and  sub- 
tracted. 

"  She  is  worth  $72,403.20  to-day.  What  do  you 
think  of  that  ?  Prove  the  figures  for  yourself.  Here's 
the  pencil." 

"  I  don't  care  to—" 

"  The  day  of  the  wedding,"  went  on  Eddie  wildly, 
"  she  weighed  in  at  $16,972.80,  I  think.  See  what  I 


240  HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

mean?  She's  bulling  the  market  and  I  can't  realise  a 
cent  on  her.  She's  gone  up  $55,430  in  less  than  a 
year.  Suffering  Isaac!  Why  couldn't  she  have 
weighed  that  much  a  year  ago?  "  He  was  so  furious 
that  he  chopped  off  his  words  in  such  a  way  that  they 
sounded  like  the  barking  of  a  dog. 

The  General  pushed  back  his  chair  in  alarm. 

"  Calm  yourself,  Eddie." 

"  Oh,  I'm  calm  enough." 

"Martha  will  be  a  very  rich  woman  when  I  die, 
and  you  won't  have  to — " 

"  That  sounds  beautiful.  But  don't  you  see  that 
she's  getting  so  blamed  fat  that  she's  liable  to  tip 
over  some  day  and  die  before  I  can  find  any  one  to 
help  me  set  her  up  again?  And  if  that  should  hap- 
pen, will  you  kindly  tell  me  where  I  would  come  in?  " 

"You  are  a  heartless,  mercenary  scoundrel," 
gasped  the  General. 

"  Well,  you  would  be  sore,  too,  if  this  thing  had 
happened  to  you,"  whined  Eddie.  He  sprang  to  his 
feet  suddenly.  "  By  thunder,  I  can't  stand  it  a  day 
longer.  Good-bye,  General.  I'm  going  to  skip  out." 

"Skip  out!    Leave  her?    Is  that  what  you  mean?  " 

"  Yes.  She  can  always  find  a  happy  home  with  her 
mother  and  you.  I'm  off  to  the — " 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,"  cried  the  General  hoarsely, 
"  don't  do  that,  Eddie.  Don't  you  dare  do  anything 
like  that.  I — I — I  am  sure  we  can  arrange  something 
between  us.  I'm  not  a  stingy,  hard-hearted  man,  and 
you  know  it.  You  deserve  relief.  You  deserve  com- 
pensation. I  am  your  father-in-law  and,  damme, 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD  241 

I'll  not  go  back  on  you  in  your  time  of  need.  I'll 
make  up  the  amount  you  have  already  lost,  'pon  my 
soul  I  will,  Eddie.  Stand  by  your  guns,  that's  all  I 
ask." 

A  seraphic  expression  came  into  Eddie's  face. 
"  When?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Immediately.  Can  you  come  to  my  house  this 
evening?  Alone,  of  course." 

"  I  should  say  I  can ! "  shouted  Eddie,  growing 
two  inches  taller  in  an  instant.  He  took  the  package 
of  crape  from  his  pocket  and  threw  it  into  a  cuspidor. 
Then  he  sighed  profoundly.  "  Gad,  have  you  ever 
felt  like  another  man,  General?  It's  great." 

As  the  General  was  past  the  point  where  he  could 
risk  saying  another  word,  he  maintained  a  strenuous 
silence. 

Eddie  indulged  in  an  expansive  grin.  "  You  asked 
if  I  could  come  alone.  That's  the  only  way  I  can 
come.  If  you  ever  expect  to  see  Martha,  General, 
you  will  have  to  come  to  my  house  to  do  so.  Do  you 
remember  that  saying  about  Mahomet  and  the 
mountain?  " 


THE  MAID  AND  THE  BLADE 


THE  MAID  AND  THE  BLADE 


Over  two  centuries  ago.  Virginia,  fair  Virginia, 
in  her  most  rugged,  uncouth  state,  yet  queen  of  all 
the  colonies,  rich  in  the  dignity  of  an  advanced  settle- 
ment, glorious  in  prophecies  and  ambitions ;  the 
favoured  ward  of  England's  sovereigns,  the  paradise 
of  her  royal  pillagers,  the  birthplace  of  American 
Freedom. 

Jamestown  was  in  the  throes  of  a  savage  struggle, 
confined  not  to  herself  alone,  but  spreading  to  the 
farthermost  ends  of  the  apparently  unbounded  state. 
The  capital  fight  was  on,  the  contest,  waging  between 
the  town  in  which  grew  Bacon's  rebellion  and 
Williamsburg,  in  which  William  and  Mary  College 
had  just  been  born,  an  infant  venture  that  seemed 
but  a  mockery  in  the  wilds.  Boisterous,  boasting 
Jamestown,  since  the  rule  of  Berkeley  and  the  un- 
fortunate overthrow  of  Bacon,  had  resumed  a  state 
of  composure  which  she  had  not  known  in  the  five 
preceding  decades,  and  was  beginning  to  look  upon 
herself  as  the  undisputed  metropolis  of  the  wilder- 
ness. The  impudence  of  Williamsburg,  with  her 
feeble  scholastic  claims,  was  not  even  condemned — it 
was  ignored. 

The  crude  fort  at  Jamestown  held  a  merry  gar- 
243 


244        THE  MAID  AND  THE  BLADE 

rison,  the  Governor  having  impressed  upon  royalty 
across  the  sea  the  importance  of  troops  in  a  land 
where  unexpected  rebellions  against  authority  might 
succeed  the  partially  triumphant  uprising  against 
Sir  William  in  1676.  Bacon's  death  in  the  October 
of  that  year  had  lost  the  fight  which  had  been  fairly 
won,  and  it  was  wisdom  which  told  the  new  Governor 
that  troops  were  essential,  even  in  time  of  peace. 

The  commander  of  the  garrison  was  Colonel 
Fortune.  The  number  and  quality  of  his  troops  are 
not  important  factors  in  this  tale. 

Among  the  men  were  a  dozen  or  more  subalterns, 
fresh  from  England,  undergoing  their  first  rough 
work  in  the  forests  of  Virginia.  In  this  fledgling 
crowd  were  young  Graf  ton,  afterward  a  general; 
Mooney,  Vedder,  Holcraft  and  others,  whose  names, 
with  those  of  their  Virginia  companions  went  into 
colonial  history. 

Near  the  fort  were  the  homes  of  the  officers,  the 
Governor's  residence  being  but  a  short  distance  down 
the  rough,  winding  lane,  which  was  dignified  by  the 
name  of  street.  Colonel  Fortune's  home  was  the 
handsomest,  the  merriest  of  them  all,  a  typical 
frontier  mansion.  A  mansion  of  those  days  could  be 
little  more  than  a  cottage  in  these,  yet  the  Colonel's 
was  far  brighter,  gayer  than  the  palace  of  to-day. 
In  his  house  gathered  chivalrous  subalterns  from 
English  homes,  stalwart  Virginians  of  inherited  gal- 
lantry, the  men  and  women  from  whom  sprung  the 
first  families  of  that  blue  blood  which  all  Americans 
cherish  lovingly  and  proudly. 


THE  MAID  AND  THE  BLADE        245 

His  board  was  more  hospitable  than  that  of  the 
Governor,  his  favours  were  coveted  more  eagerly  even 
than  were  those  of  his  superior.  Stern,  exacting,  yet 
affable  and  courteous,  he  was  the  idol  of  a  people 
whose  hatred  for  those  who  ruled  them  had  wrought 
ruin  more  than  once.  Mrs.  Fortune,  a  lady  of  gentle 
birth  closely  related,  in  fact,  to  a  certain  branch  of 
nobility,  shared  the  power  of  her  husband. 

But  there  was  a  colonial  queen  whose  reign  was  of 
more  consequence  to  the  youth  of  Jamestown  than 
was  that  of  the  august  person  across  the  sea.  She 
was  queen  of  hearts,  this  daughter  of  theirs,  airy  Kate 
Fortune.  Daintiest  maid  in  all  the  land,  famed  for 
her  wit,  her  follies,  her  merry  loveliness,  her  dimples 
and  her  sunshine,  she  was  the  wiliest  tempter  who  ever 
laid  unconscious  siege  against  man's  indifference. 
The  English  officers  called  her  an  angel,  the  more 
deferential  Virginians  moaned  that  she  was  a  witch, 
yet  would  not  have  burned  her  for  the  whole  universe. 
On  the  contrary,  they  sacrificed  themselves  to  the 
worship  of  her  craft.  War  and  strife  were  forgotten, 
the  treacheries  of  the  Indians  were  minimised,  and  a 
score  or  more  of  dreamers,  awake  or  asleep,  found 
their  minds  so  full  of  dainty  Kate  that  thought  of  else 
could  work  no  means  of  entrance.  In  that  year  of 
our  Lord,  Jamestown  was  a  veritable  cauldron  of 
rivals,  fair  suitors  all,  some  bold,  some  timid,  none 
hopeful. 

Strange  as  it  may  appear  to  those  who  live  these 
two  centuries  later,  there  were  no  jealousies,  no  bitter- 
ness among  them.  In  those  good  days  the  favoured 


246        THE  MAID  AND  THE  BLADE 

man's  best  friends  were  his  beaten  rivals.  Kate's 
kingdom  was  not  large,  was  not  glittering,  but  her 
sceptre  was  mighty.  It  was  made  of  tenderness  and 
Wauty. 

For  two  months  the  Governor's  nephew  had  been 
her  most  ardent  admirer,  notwithstanding  the  fact 
that  he  had  been  in  Virginia  but  sixty  days.  His 
surrender  had  been  instantaneous. 

Ordinarily  the  nephew  of  the  Governor,  who  was 
a  lord  of  the  realm,  might  be  considered  a  superior 
rival,  but  in  this  instance  he  was  not  even  feared. 
He  had  come  to  Jamestown  with  exalted  ideas.  He 
dressed  better,  talked  better  and  lived  better,  and  he 
seemed  to  hold  every  man  in  the  colony  in  disdain. 
Friendly,  courteous  even  to  the  lowest  soldier,  he  still 
gave  forth  the  impression  that  he  was  condescending, 
not  alone  to  those  beneath,  but  to  those  above  him. 
That  this  scion,  this  self-ordered  perfect  man,  should 
have  drifted  to  the  colonies  from  the  drawing-rooms 
of  London  only  to  fall  in  love  with  Kate  Fortune 
seemed  incredible. 

Moreover,  he  had  refused  to  wrestle  in  the  contests 
at  the  fort,  and  had  failed  to  fight  the  man  who  had 
warmly  called  him  a  coward  in  the  presence  of  others. 

Tales  of  his  conduct  in  that  and  other  exhibitions 
had  been  spread,  and  the  good-looking  young  officer 
eventually  became  a  laughing-stock.  One  day,  how- 
ever, he  pulled  the  nose  of  an  impudent  lieutenant. 
When  the  red-faced  lieutenant  insisted  upon  satis- 
faction with  swords  he  merely  turned  pale  and 
ignored  the  challenge. 


THE  MAID  AND  THE  BLADE        247 

"  I  came  here  to  fight  the  Indians,  not  to  kill  my 
comrades,"  he  had  said,  and  a  disdainful  laugh  fol- 
lowed, bringing  a  flush  to  his  face  as  he  walked  away. 

Kate  Fortune  rather  admired  the  easy  elegance  of 
the  stranger,  yet  despised  his  lack  of  courage,  the 
story  having  come  to  her  promptly  enough.  She  be- 
gan to  treat  him  coldly  and  he  was  at  last  driven  to 
feel  that  he  was  her  most  unwelcome  suitor.  One  day 
he  bluntly  asked  her  why  she  treated  him  so  unkindly. 

"  Captain  Studdiford,  I  will  be  frank  with  you," 
replied  the  girl.  "  How  can  you  expect  me  to  admire 
a  man  who  submits  to  the  ridicule  of  a  whole  company 
of  men,  not  one  of  whom  seems  able  to  cope  with  him 
in  strength  or  in  the  experience  of  arms?  I  am  the 
daughter  of  an  English  soldier;  that  should  be  suf- 
ficient reason  for  my  conduct.  If  I  have  mistreated 
you  it  was  because  I  could  not  help  it."  She  saw 
a  look  of  pain  come  and  go  in  his  flushed  face,  hence 
the  hasty  apology,  such  as  it  was. 

"  So  I  am  an  object  of  derision  to  you,  as  well  as 
to  them,"  he  observed,  quietly.  "  I  shall  not  intrude 
myself  again,  Miss  Fortune.  I  am  brave  enough  to 
tell  you,  for  the  first  time,  and  in  the  face  of  your 
evident  dislike,  that  I  love  you  better  than  I  ever 
dreamed  I  could  love  a  woman."  He  was  turning 
away  in  apparent  indifference  as  he  concluded  this 
strange  avowal. 

Kate  planted  herself  squarely  before  him,  her 
pretty,  perplexed  face  twitching  between  a  smile  and 
a  frown,  wonder  fairly  popping  from  her  curious  blue 
eyes. 


248        THE  MAID  AND  THE  BLADE 

"  Isn't  it  cowardly  to  say  that  when  you  know  how 
I  feel?  You  are  safe  in  confessing  something  that 
you  already  know  I  cannot  consider,"  she  said. 

"  I  would  rather  not  discuss  it.  You  may  treat  it 
as  a  jest,  as  cowardice,  or  what  you  like.  I  cannot 
control  your  treatment  of  the  best  thing  an  honest 
man  has  to  give  a  woman."  It  left  the  girl  standing 
on  the  tips  of  her  toes  in  sheer  surprise.  She  was 
at  no  time  a  dignified  queen,  but  she  was  an  inquisitive 
one. 

"  But,  Captain,  you  must  not  go  away  fearing  that 
I — I  shall  treat  lightly  what  you  have  said  to  me," 
she  murmured. 

"  Fearing?  Why  should  I  fear  your  ridicule  more 
than  that  of  others  ?  You  are  brighter,  more  bewitch- 
ing, more  tantalising  than  any  woman  I  have  ever 
known — you  are  maddening — do  you  hear?  Ah,  I 
crave  your  pardon  for  so  far  forgetting  myself  as  to 
dwell  upon  a  matter  which  I  should  have  forgotten 
in  your  displeasure.  By  the  way,  I  should  like  to 
tell  you  why  I  will  not  accommodate  these  young  fools 
with  a  duel,  why  I  have  controlled  my  natural  desire 
to  resent  their  insults.  I  have  fought  one  duel  and  I 
have  killed  a  man.  These  men  would  have  no  more 
chance  than  that  man  had.  You  may  tell  them  so. 
Farewell!" 

She  watched  his  tall  figure  move  from  her  dooryard 
and  disappear  in  the  direction  of  the  river.  Then 
Kate  sat  down  in  the  window  and  gazed  half  regret- 
fully toward  the  opening  in  the  timber  through  which 
he  had  passed. 


THE  MAID  AND  THE  BLADE        249 

It  began  to  occur  to  her  that  Captain  Studdiford 
was  somehow  the  superior  of  any  man  she  had  ever 
seen.  She  felt  a  joy  that  he  had  fought  a  duel,  al- 
though the  thought  that  he  had  killed  a  man  caused 
her  to  shudder.  With  the  shudder,  however,  came 
the  relieved  feeling  that  he  had  not  been  the  victim. 
Her  face  flushed  faintly,  too,  as  she  recalled  his 
strange  avowal  of  love. 

That  same  night  a  half  dozen  young  men,  with  as 
many  maids,  dropped  in  to  spend  the  chilly  evening 
before  the  Colonel's  roaring  fires.  They  were  toast- 
ing apples  and  chattering  gaily  when  Kate  suddenly 
turned  to  a  young  Virginian,  and  with  taunting  eyes, 
cried : 

"  Morton  Trask,  I  know  why  Captain  Studdiford 
would  not  fight  a  duel  with  you." 

"  So  do  I,"  responded  Trask.  "  Because  he  feared 
me." 

"  'Twas  no  such  reason.  He  says  he  does  not 
choose  to  kill  anything  but  Indians."  A  big  laugh 
went  up  from  the  men. 

"  The  fool !    Did  he  say  that  to  you  ?  "  cried  Trask. 

"  He  truly  did ;  and,  besides,  he  has  fought  and 
killed  a  man." 

"  Ho !    Ho !  "  laughed  Trask,  disdainfully. 

"  Did  he  stab  him  in  the  dark  ?  "  questioned  Far- 
ring. 

"  He  lies  if  he  says  he  fought  aught  save  a  boy," 
sneered  Trask. 

"  Yet  he  pulled  your  valiant  nose  until  it  was  red 
for  near  a  week,"  said  Kate,  cheerily. 


250        THE  MAID  AND  THE  BLADE 

"Oh,  would  that  I  were  at  him — the  coward!" 
cried  Trask,  white  and  trembling. 

"  You  can  pull  his  nose  when  next  you  meet  him, 
Morton,  it  is  your  turn,  you  know,"  said  Kate,  laugh- 
ingly, and  Trask  glared  at  the  burning  logs  in  angry 
silence. 

"  Please  forgive  me,  Morton ;  I  did  not  mean  to 
hurt  you  by  recalling  a  previous  injury,"  cried  Kate, 
and  Trask's  injury  increased  with  her  contrition. 

"  I  cannot  see  why  you  defend  the  Captain,  Miss 
Fortune,"  ventured  Farring. 

"  Why  not?    He  will  not  defend  himself." 

"  But  you  surely  cannot  approve  a  coward?  " 

"  Are  you  sure  he  is  a  coward?  " 

"  I  should  consider  myself  one  under  the  circum- 
stances, I  believe,"  he  replied,  evasively. 

"  Would  it  not  be  cowardly  to  fight  Morton  Trask 
if  he  knew  he  could  kill  him?  " 

"  Bah !  "  came  from  the  angry  Trask. 

"  He  could,  at  least,  have  given  Trask  satisfaction 
for  an  insult,"  said  Varney.  Kate  wavered. 

"  That's  true,"  she  said ;  "  he  should  have  been  a 
gentleman.  Still,  that  does  not  prove  him  a  cow- 
ard." 

"  I'll  wager  that  I  can  prove  him  a  coward,"  ob- 
served Lieutenant  Holmes.  "  And  safely,  too." 

"  'Twere  wise  to  do  it  safely,"  supplemented  Miss 
Fortune. 

"  One  time  at  home  we  exposed  a  boasting  captain, 
who  would  have  had  us  think  him  the  bravest  man  on 
earth—" 


THE  MAID  AND  THE  BLADE         251 

"  But  that  does  not  seem  to  be  Captain  Studdi- 
ford's  object,"  interrupted  Kate. 

"  True,"  went  on  Holmes,  "  but  that  has  nothing 
to  do  with  it.  This  captain  was  one  night  approached 
by  five  of  his  fellow  officers,  disguised  as  highwaymen, 
and  despite  his  declarations  that  he  had  fought  dozens 
of  such  men,  he  ran  like  a  hound,  screaming  murder 
ull  the  way.  Why  not  test  your  captain's  courage  as 
*re  tested  ours,  Miss  Fortune?  " 

"  In  the  first  place,  I  could  not  be  a  very  im- 
pressive highwayman,  and  in  the  second  place,  he 
might  shoot." 

"  You  have  plenty  of  men  at  your  command  who 
would  serve  as  Indians  for  such  an  experiment," 
speculated  Varney. 

"  Egad !  we  all  would !  "  exclaimed  Holmes. 

"  So  you  might !  "  she  cried.  "  He  would  be  will- 
ing to  kill  you  if  you  were  Indians." 

"  We  might  as  well  give  up  the  plan,  for  we  could 
not  force  him  to  leave  town  without  a  bodyguard," 
sneered  Trask. 

"  Fie !  That  is  easy.  Miss  Fortune  could  ask  him 
to  ride  with  her  into  the  forest  and  he  would  go 
blindly  enough,"  said  Holmes. 

"I?"  cried  Kate,  blushing  to  think  of  herself  in 
that  position  after  Studdiford's  proclamation.  "  I 
could  not — would  not  do  such  a  thing.  Prove  him 
a  coward,  but  do  not  ask  me  to  help  you." 

"  Holmes  is  right,  and  Miss  Fortune  should  be  will- 
ing to  make  the  test.  She  is  his  defender;  she  cannot 
refuse  to  satisfy  herself  of  her  error  in  this  harmlces, 


252        THE  MAID  AND  THE  BLADE 

yet  effective  way,"  announced  big  Farring,  and  every 
member  of  the  party  laid  siege  against  Kate's  falter- 
ing opposition.  The  fun  of  it  all  finally  appealed  to 
her  and  she  rather  timidly  agreed  to  the  proposition. 
How  could  she  ask  him  to  ride  with  her  after  what 
had  passed  between  them?  He  would  think  her  un- 
womanly and,  strangely  enough,  with  that  thought 
she  began  to  feel  that  she  must  have  his  good  opinion. 
Yet  she  went,  half  dubiously,  into  the  plot  to  prove 
a  coward  of  the  man  she  was  beginning  to  admire. 

The  details  of  the  scheme  were  submitted  by  the 
men,  and  were  as  follows :  Kate  was  to  ask  him  to  ride 
horseback  with  her  to  "  Big  Fork,"  five  miles  through 
the  forest,  on  some  near  afternoon,  and  the  men  were 
to  bedeck  themselves  as  Indians,  attack  them,  take 
her  from  his  custody  and  hurry  her  off  into  apparent 
captivity,  whilst  he  trembled  with  fear  and  inaction. 

"  But  suppose  he  should  happen  to  be  disappoint- 
ing and  shoot  somebody,"  objected  Lucy  Gaines. 

"Oh,  he  must  have  no  chance  to  do  that,"  said 
Varney.  "  Miss  Fortune  can  induce  him  to  discharge 
his  pistols  in  some  feat  of  marksmanship  and  we  will 
swoop  down  before  he  can  reload  them." 

"  For  shame !  "  cried  Kate.  "  How  could  that  be 
a  fair  test  of  bravery?  An  unarmed  man  against 
five  brawny  Indians !  I'll  have  none  of  it.  His 
pistols  must  remain  undisturbed." 

"  But — good  heavens ! — he  may  kill  us  all,"  cried 
Trask. 

"  Well,  how  else  is  he  to  prove  his  courage?  You 
must  take  your  chances,  gentlemen,  with  your  coward. 


THE  MAID  AND  THE  BLADE        2S3 

If  he  is  a  coward  you  need  not  fear  his  pistols,  though 
he  had  a  dozen ;  if  he  is  not,  then  you  may  have  to  run 
from  them." 

"  Allow  us  to  capture  you  and  offer  him  the 
privilege  of  fighting  for  your  liberty,  choosing  his 
own  weapons.  If  he  agrees  to  fight  for  you,  instead 
of  taking  his  proffered  freedom,  we  will  leave  the  field 
to  him  and  you  may  call  him  hero.  That  is  fair,  is  it 
not?  "  proposed  Farring. 

"  You  will  not  hurt  him  ?  "  asked  Kate  doubtingly. 

"Hurt  him?  We  shall  not  even  catch  him.  He 
will  leave  you  and  fly  for  his  life !  "  cried  Trask. 

"  I  tell  you  now,  gentlemen,  if  he  stands  the  test  and 
disproves  your  taunts  against  his  valour,  my  respect 
for  him  will  be  far  more  than  you  can  ever  hope  to 
inspire.  Yet,  after  all,  it  will  be  a  diversion — it  will 
be  fun  to  see  how  he  will  act,"  mused  the  fair  plotter. 

It  required  all  of  Kate's  courage  and  a  dismal 
sacrifice  of  pride  to  suggest  the  ride  to  Captain  Stud- 
diford,  but  she  did  it  the  next  morning,  stopping  him 
near  the  fort  after  having  walked  not  thirty  feet  be- 
hind for  more  than  two  hundred  yards.  She  was  a 
trifle  insecure  as  to  her  own  valour  in  this  pre- 
liminary step. 

The  rosiness  of  her  cheeks  might  have  been  by 
others  attributed  to  the  chill  of  the  December  morn, 
but  she  knew  they  were  the  flames  from  an  inward  fire. 

Captain  Studdiford's  heart  thumped  unusually 
fast  as  he  looked  down  into  the  piquant  face  and  big 
blue  eyes,  which  for  the  first  time  since  he  had  known 
her,  wore  a  gleam  bordering  on  embarrassment. 


254        THE  MAID  AND  THE  BLADE 

They  were  very  soft  and  timid  this  morning — there 
was  something  appealing  in  their  tempting  depths. 

"May  I  not  walk  with  you?  I  am  going  your 
way,"  were  her  first  words  as  she  reached  his  side. 

"Whither,  pray?" 

"  Oh,  to —  "  and  here  she  blushed,  for  in  truth  she 
had  no  destination — "  to  Anna  Corwin's,"  she  con- 
cluded in  relief. 

"  But  Mistress  Corwin  lives  back  yonder.  How 
came  you  to  be  going  this  way?  " 

"  Did  I  say  Anna  Corwin?  " 

"  If  I  am  not  deaf." 

"  Then  I  must  have  meant  some  one  else ;  to  be  sure 
I  did — how  queer  of  me.  I  am  going  to  Lucy's.  You 
cannot  say,  sir,  that  she  does  not  live  in  this  direction. 
I'll  not  walk  with  you  if  you  are  bound  to  be  partic- 
ular, though."  Her  little  ears  were  very  red. 

"  I  beg  you  to  forgive  me  and  allow  me  to  walk 
with  you,"  cried  the  Captain  eagerly. 

"  I  like  that  much  better.  No  matter  if  I  were 
going  to  Anna's  and  chose  a  roundabout  way,  you 
should  not  be  so  impolite  as  to  remonstrate.  As  a 
rule,  Captain,  the  men  prefer  the  roundabout 
way." 

"  Be  it  miles  I  would  walk  it  with  thee,"  cried  he, 
smiling  at  her  merry  vanity. 

"  Oh,  would  you  do  that?  "  she  asked,  suddenly  see- 
ing her  way  clear.  Yet,  in  spite  of  all,  her  composure 
deserted  her  and  she  blurted  it  out,  turning  red  again. 
"  I  am  dying  to  ride  to  *  Big  Fork  '  to-morrow,  but  I 
have  no  one  to  accompany  me.  Would  you  like  to 


THE  MAID  AND  THE  BLADE        255 
go?"     Then  to  herself,  "What  a  fool  he  thinks 


,i  » 


me! 

"Gladly;  but,  are  we  sure  there  are  no  stray 
Indians  about?  "  he  asked,  rather  quickly. 

"  He  is  afraid,"  she  thought,  with  strange  disap- 
pointment. "  If  you  are  afraid,  we  will  not  go,"  she 
said  a  trifle  coldly. 

"Afraid?  Not  for  myself,  but  for  you.  We  will 
go  if  you  like,  and  I  should  rejoice  to  meet  all  of  the 
Indians  in  Virginia  if  it  will  please  you." 

So  they  made  their  plans,  and  she  was  so  loth  to 
leave  him  that  he  was  forced  to  remind  her  that  they 
had  passed  the  home  of  Lucy  Gaines  a  full  furlong 
or  more.  He  left  her  at  the  door,  his  heart  exultant, 
hers  all  a-flutter. 

The  next  afternoon  the  two  rode  forth  from  James- 
town and  into  the  forest,  following  the  well-made 
road  which  led  to  the  westward  beneath  the  red  and 
yellowing  oaks.  Half  an  hour  previous  to  their  de- 
parture five  young  men  had  ridden  from  the  home  of 
Lucy  Gaines,  strange  bundles  strapped  to  their  sad- 
dles. Above  all  things,  they  had  cautioned  Kate  to 
demand  the  Captain's  proof  of  marksmanship  at  a 
point  near  Big  Fork. 

It  was  with  some  consternation,  notwithstanding 
all  the  plotting,  that  Kate  observed  the  big  pistols 
at  the  Captain's  side  and  the  heavy  sword  which 
jangled  against  his  leg.  That  jangling  sword  gave 
her  the  tremors,  and  she  cast  many  furtive  glances 
toward  its  chain  and  scabbard.  At  last  she  was  com- 
pelled to  ask: 


256        THE  MAID  AND  THE  BLADE 

"  How  can  you,  I  pray,  use  such  a  monstrous 
sword,  Captain  Studdiford?  It  must  have  been  made 
for  a  giant." 

"  It  was ;  it  was  my  great-great-grandfather's  over 
a  century  ago.  See!  It  is  serviceable,  even  in  my 
weak  hand."  He  pulled  the  gleaming  blade,  long  and 
heavy,  from  its  scabbard,  and  swept  it  downward 
through  the  air  so  fiercely  that  it  resembled  a  wide 
sheet  of  silver.  Kate's  blue  eyes  grew  wide  with  ap- 
prehension, a  cold  chill  seized  upon  her  and  her  ruddy 
face  paled.  He  returned  the  weapon  to  its  sheath 
with  such  a  forceful  crash  that  she  started  violently 
in  her  saddle,  her  little  teeth  clicking  in  sheer  af- 
fright. 

"  I  could  cleave  a  man's  skull  in  twain  as  easily  as 
you  can  cut  an  apple.  Would  that  we  could  meet  a 
warlike  Indian  that  I  could  show  you  how  it  merits 
my  praise." 

"Goodness!"  gasped  Kate  hopelessly.  "You 
would  not  strike — a — a — man  with  it,  would 
you?" 

"  If  he  were  an  enemy.  For  you,  loved  one,  I  could 
cut  down  an  army."  Their  horses  drew  more  closely 
side  by  side  and  the  fierce,  strong  hand  was  gently 
laid  upon  her  trembling  fingers.  Tenderly  clasping 
the  little  one  the  big  one  raised  it  until  it  touched  the 
lips  of  him  who  leaned  across  to  kiss  it.  Their  eyes 
met  as  he  raised  his  head.  His  were  full  of  love,  hers 
with  a  pleading  dread,  the  uncertain  quiver  between 
love  and  fear.  Without  a  word  he  dropped  the  hand, 
suddenly  sick  at  heart. 


THE  MAID  AND  THE  BLADE        257 

"I  could  die  for  her  and  she  despises  me,"  he 
groaned  to  himself. 

"  Oh,  what  have  I — have  we  done?  "  she  thought, 
a  thousand  fears  gathering  in  her  heart.  "  He  is  no 
coward  and  he  will  kill  one  of  them !  How  can  I  tell 
him — how  can  I  save  their  lives?  He  will  despise  me! 
That  awful  sword !  A  man's  skull !  Oh,  dear !  He 
called  me  loved  one  !  How  big  and  strong  he  is !  He 
called  me — how  can  I  keep  him  from  using  the  sword? 
The  pistols  I  can  manage  and — perhaps  they  will  not 
be  there.  He  will  kill  them  all — horror  upon  horror ! 
What  have  I  done?  Oh!  "  the  last  exclamation  was 
so  loud  and  so  sudden  that  the  pale  Captain  turned 
quickly. 

"What  is  it?     What  is  it?" 

She  laughed  wildly,  even  gleefully,  almost  in  the 
face  of  her  companion. 

"  Nothing — nothing  at  all !  "  she  cried. 

tf  I  am  glad  to  have  afforded  you  amusement,  Mis- 
tress Fortune.  You  may  tear  my  heart  to  shreds." 

Her  manner  changed  instantly.  Tears  flew  to  the 
blue  eyes  and  her  hand  crept  toward  him. 

"  Forgive  me,  pray,  Captain  Studdiford,  I — I  did 
not  mean  to  hurt  you.  I — I — am  very  foolish,  very 
unkind.  You  must  hate  me,"  she  faltered. 

"  Hate  you !  How  could  I  ?  You  do  not  love  me — 
why  should  I  have  hoped?  I  can  but  blame  myself." 
Her  hand  had  fallen  to  her  side  because  he  had  not 
touched  it.  "  And  it  is  our  last  afternoon  together." 

"  Last?  "  she  repeated,  faintly. 

"  Yes ;  for  I  shall  not  see  you  again." 


258        THE  MAID  AND  THE  BLADE 

"  Oh — you — you — do  not  mean  that !  " 

"  I  have  asked  to  be  transferred  to  Williamsburg. 
I — I  have  not  one  friend  in  Jamestown;  why  should 
I  stay  here?  "  he  cried  bitterly. 

"But  you  have,"  she  exclaimed,  eagerly;  "you 
have.  I  am  your  friend." 

"Friend!  That  is  not  what  I  ask  of  you,"  he 
said,  almost  gruffly. 

Silence,  broken  only  by  the  clatter  of  the  hoofs 
upon  the  road  followed  his  words.  In  her  confusion 
she  had  forgotten  the  terrible  sword,  but  it  recurred 
to  her,  and,  with  it,  the  thought  which  had  given 
birth  to  her  untimely  mirth,  the  thought  that  was  to 
lead  her  from  the  chief  predicament  into  which  she 
had  been  cast.  She  would  ask  the  Captain  to  turn 
back  to  Jamestown  at  once,  avoiding  the  possibility 
of  conflict. 

"  Captain  Studdiford,  I  believe  we  had  better  turn 
back."  Her  face  grew  crimson  beneath  his  calm 
gaze. 

"  As  you  like.  You  will  grant  me  time  to  adjust 
my  saddle  girth ;  it  is  slipping,"  he  said  coolly,  dis- 
mounting without  another  word. 

They  were  fully  three  miles  from  the  village,  and  in 
a  dense  piece  of  forest.  On  either  side  of  the  narrow 
road  grew  the  thickest  of  underbrush  with  the  great, 
gaunt  trees  stretching  above  like  silent  sentinels. 
The  girl's  mind  was  chaos ;  her  thoughts  were  chang- 
ing and  interchanging  like  leaves  before  the  whirling 
wind.  She  knew  that  she  admired  this  man,  and  that 
something  even  sweeter  was  beginning  to  throb  its 


THE  MAID  AND  THE  BLADE        259 

way  into  her  heart.  A  half  smile  came  to  her  troubled 
face  as  she  thought  of  the  war-painted  plotters  two 
miles  away,  waiting  to  make  a  coward  of  her  hero. 
A  touch  of  remorse  came  to  her  as  she  remembered 
her  part  in  the  play,  and  that  the  plot  would  have 
been  carried  out  had  she  not  seen  the  great  swing  of 
that  fearful  sword.  What  havoc  it  would  have 
wrought !  And  he  was  to  leave  Jamestown !  With- 
out a  friend,  he  had  said.  How  could  he  say  that? 

In  the  midst  of  these  varying  thoughts  she  allowed 
her  softening  eyes  to  wander  from  him  toward  the 
trees  above  and  the  straggling  brush  beneath  their 
knotty  limbs.  A  suppressed  scream  called  the  Cap- 
tain's attention  to  her  staring  eyes.  They  were  blink- 
ing with  consternation. 

Deep  in  the  underbrush  she  had  seen  the  form  of 
an  Indian  warrior !  Horrors !  The  sword ! 

"  What  do  you  see?  "  cried  he,  staring  toward  the 
now  deserted  brush. 

"  Nothing— nothing !"  she  gasped.  "  Yes— I 
mean,  that  red  bird!  See?  Do  shoot  it  for  me — I 
must  have  it!  Isn't  it  beautiful?"  She  was  ex- 
citedly pointing  toward  a  red  bird  in  the  top  branches 
of  a  big  oak. 

He  drew  his  pistols  and  deliberately  aimed  with  one 
of  them.  The  shot  missed  and  the  bird  darted 
away. 

"  Oh,  goodness !  "  she  cried.    "  Try  the  other  one !  " 

"  But  the  bird  is  gone." 

"  Is  it  ?  So  it  is — but,  quick !  See  if  you  can  cut 
off  that  twig  up  there — the  one  with  three  red  leaves. 


260        THE  MAID  AND  THE  BLADE 

I  wager  you  cannot !  Quick,  and  then  we  will  ride  for 
home." 

"  Why  are  you  so  excited?  " 

"  I  am  not  the  least  bit  excited — I  never  am !  Why 
do  you  not  shoot  at  that  twig?  " 

"  You  try  it,"  he  surprised  her  by  saying,  pushing 
a  pistol  into  her  hand.  Without  a  word  or  aim  she 
blazed  away  at  the  sky  and  his  firearms  were  useless. 
She  handed  the  smoking  pistol  to  him  with  a  laugh. 

"  Would  it  not  be  awful  if  Indians  came  upon  us  ?  " 
she  cried,  with  strange  exultation.  "  But  mount,  and 
race  with  me  to  the  spring !  " 

As  the  Captain  placed  his  foot  in  the  stirrup  a  yell 
burst  from  the  thicket,  an  arrow  whizzed  above  their 
heads,  and  a  half-a-dozen  fierce  warriors  were  dashing 
toward  them. 

"  Do  not  use  your  sword !  "  she  screamed. 

Before  the  bewildered  soldier  could  catch  his  breath 
an  ugly  brave  was  in  the  road,  not  ten  feet  away, 
knife  in  hand.  Out  whizzed  the  sword ! 

Kate  screamed  in  agony,  clasping  her  hand  over 
her  eyes. 

"  They  are  friends !    Do  not  strike !  " 

But  it  was  too  late.  The  streak  of  steel  cut  the 
air.  A  sickening  thud,  a  gurgling  howl,  and  the  as- 
sailant fell,  his  head  half  severed  from  his  body.  An 
instant  later  the  big  Englishman  was  in  his  saddle. 
A  second  slash  and  an  Indian  at  his  side  went  down 
beneath  the  ancestral  blade ! 

The  two  horses  plunged  forward  as  a  brawny  red- 
skin grasped  her  arm  and  she  felt  herself  being 


THE  MAID  AND  THE  BLADE        261 

Dragged  to  the  ground.  Then  a  hand  clasped  her 
other  arm,  a  big  form  leaned  over  behind  her,  far 
across  the  back  of  her  horse.  She  heard  the  hiss  of 
something  cutting  the  air,  the  crash  as  of  splitting 
wood,  a  scream  of  agony  and  the  Indian's  ruthless 
grasp  was  loosened.  Her  horse  stumbled  and  seemed 
to  totter  beneath  her,  but  again  that  arm  from  aloft 
exerted  itself  and  it  seemed  as  if  she  were  being  lifted 
to  the  tree  tops.  Almost  before  she  could  realise  it 
she  was  upon  another  horse,  clasped  in  the  arm  of  its 
rider,  and  they  were  off  like  the  wind. 

Suddenly  she  felt  the  form  of  the  man  who  held  her 
so  closely  drop  forward  with  a  groan  and  then 
straighten  again  slowly.  Exultant  yells  came  from 
behind  them,  several  arrows  whizzed  past,  and  then 
naught  was  heard  but  the  thunder  of  the  horse's  hoofs 
upon  the  frozen  road.  As  her  eyes  opened  invol- 
untarily, terror  possessing  them,  they  fell  upon  the 
scene  far  behind.  Two  hundred  yards  away  her 
own  horse  lay  struggling  in  the  road,  two  human 
forms  stretched  near  it,  another  dragging  itself  to  the 
roadside.  Three  feathered  Indians  were  some  fifty 
yards  nearer,  gesticulating  wildly.  Her  brain  whirred 
and  buzzed,  and — consciousness  was  lost ! 

When  she  regained  her  senses  she  was  lying  upon 
the  ground.  With  feeble  eyes  she  glanced  wonder- 
ingly  about.  To  a  tree  near  by  a  horse  was  hitched, 
neath  her  body  were  the  blankets  from  the  horses  and 
certain  garments  from  the  back  of  man.  All  was  as 
a  dream ;  she  could  account  for  nothing.  Studdif ord 
was  leaning  against  the  big  oak,  coatless  and  as  pale 


262        THE  MAID  AND  THE  BLADE 

as  a  ghost.  Deep  lines  stretched  across  his  brow 
and  down  his  mouth;  his  eyes  were  closed,  as  if  in 
pain. 

An  involuntarily  moan  escaped  her  lips,  and  the 
Captain  was  at  her  side  almost  before  it  had  died 
away.  She  was  crying. 

"  Oh,  what  have  I  done !    What  have  I  done !  " 

"  Calm  yourself,  dearest !  You  are  safe — entirely 
so.  See,  we  are  alone,  far  from  those  devils.  It  is 
but  a  mile  to  Jamestown.  Be  brave  and  we  will  soon 
be  at  home,"  he  murmured  hoarsely,  kneeling  at  her 
side  and  lifting  her  to  a  sitting  posture. 

"  Home !  I  can  never  go  home !  Oh,  God  you  do 
not  know — you  do  not  know !  " 

"  There — there !    Now,  be  quiet." 

"  How  could  you  know  ?  I  am  a  murderess — I  am 
the  wretch !  Kill  me ;  I  cannot  live !  "  she  wailed. 

"  Hush !  "  he  cautioned,  lovingly. 

"  You  could  not  know — you  did  not  know  them, 
Captain  Studdiford !  "  she  cried,  sitting  bolt  upright, 
glaring  wildly  about  her,  then  shudderingly  plunging 
her  white  face  against  his  shoulder.  "  They  were  not 
Indians,"  she  almost  whispered. 

"Not  Indians!  "he  gasped. 

"  God  forgive  me — no !  It  was  all  a  trick — to  test 
your  courage — forgive  me — to  test — to  test — oh! 
and  I  allowed  you  to  kill  them !  " 

"  Speak !    Go  on !    What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  They  were  our  friends — not  Indians  !  My  dear- 
est friends !  Oh,  how  is  it  that  I  am  not  struck  dead 
for  this  ?  Please  heaven,  let  me  die !  "  she  wailed. 


THE  MAID  AND  THE  BLADE        263 

"  My  God !  "  he  exclaimed,  after  the  first  bewilder- 
ing shock.  "  A  trick — and  I  have  killed — oh,  it  can- 
not be  true !  "  He  leaped  to  his  feet,  allowing  her  to 
fall  from  his  side  to  the  ground,  where  she  lay,  a 
wretched,  shivering  heap.  With  a  ferocious  oath  he 
snatched  the  big  sword  from  the  ground  and  turned 
upon  her,  with  eyes  blazing,  muscles  quivering. 

She  was  looking  up  at  him,  those  wide  blue  eyes 
gleaming  piteously. 

"  Kill  me !  "  she  murmured,  and  closed  the  eyes  to 
await  the  stroke. 

His  big  arm  relaxed,  the  sword  fell  from  his  nerve- 
less grasp,  clanging  to  the  ground. 

When  she  reopened  her  eyes  after  an  age  of  sus- 
pense she  saw  him  leaning  against  the  tree,  his  body 
shaking  with  sobs.  A  second  glance  and  she  started 
to  her  feet  alarmed. 

His  broad  back  was  covered  with  blood.  Near  his 
left  shoulder  the  clothing  was  torn  and  an  ugly, 
gaping  wound  leered  at  her. 

"  Oh,"  she  gasped ;  "  you — you  are  hurt !  " 

"Hurt!"  he  groaned.  "They  have  killed  me! 
You  have  killed  me — you  and  your  friends.  I  hope 
you — are — satisfied — with — your — see?  "  As  he 
sank  to  the  ground,  he  pointed  feebly  to  the  cruel 
arrow  which  he  had  torn  from  his  side.  It  lay  not 
far  away,  grim  and  bloody. 

The  horrified  girl  glanced  at  it  helplessly  and  then 
at  the  unconscious  man,  unable  to  realise.  Then  she 
cried  aloud  in  her  agony  and  threw  herself  upon  the 
prostrate  form,  moaning: 


264        THE  MAID  AND  THE  BLADE 

"Dead!  Dead!  Speak  to  me,  Ralph — look  up! 
I  love  you — I  worship  you!  You  shall  not  leave 
me!" 

She  kissed  the  pallid  face,  caressed  the  chilling 
head,  sobbing: 

"  Forgive  me — forgive  me !  " 

An  hour  afterward  the  clatter  of  hoofs  upon  the 
road  aroused  her  from  the  semi-conscious  condition 
into  which  her  grief  had  thrown  her.  Through  the 
gathering  darkness  she  saw  horsemen  approaching — 
Indian  riders !  A  moment  later  they  were  dismount- 
ing at  her  side,  and  well-known  voices  were  calling  to 
her: 

"Are  you  hurt?" 

"What  has  happened?" 

"Killed?    My  God!" 

It  was  Far  ring,  Trask  and  the  other  plotters, 
reeking  with  excitement.  Their  horses  were  wet  from 
the  fierceness  with  which  they  had  been  ridden. 

"  Do  not  touch  him !  You  have  killed  him !  "  she 
cried,  striving  to  shield  the  body  from  Farring's 
anxious  touch. 

"Killed  him?  Good  God,  Kate!  where  did  you 
meet  them?  "  cried  Farring,  as  Trask  pulled  her  from 
Studdiford's  side. 

"  Are  you  not  dead?  "  she  finally  whispered  to  the 
men. 

"  We?  He  killed  three  of  them— split  their  heads ! 
But  the  wretches  put  an  arrow  into  him,  after  all. 
What  a  dreadful  thing  we  have  done !  Fairly  tricked 
him  to  his  death ! "  cried  poor  Trask. 


THE  MAID  AND  THE  BLADE        265 

"  Then — then  it  was  not  you?  "  cried  Kate. 

"  Heavens,  no !  We  found  the  Indians  dragging 
their  dead  from  the  road,  three  miles  back,  and  knew 
that  something  terrible  had  happened. 

"  Thank  God !  I  am  spared  that !  But  he  must 
not  die — he  shall  not!  I  love  him.  Do  you  hear?  I 
love  him ! " 

For  three  weeks  the  victim  of  that  ill-fated  trick 
hung  between  life  and  death.  Surgery  was  crude  in 
the  colonies,  and  the  first  evidence  of  restoration  was 
due  more  to  his  rugged  constitution  than  to  the  skill 
of  his  doctors.  The  poor  fellow  rolled  and  tossed 
upon  one  of  Mrs.  Fortune's  soft  beds,  oblivious  to  the 
kind  offices  of  those  about  him.  They  had  taken  him 
there  at  Kate's  command,  and  she  had  worn  herself  to 
a  shadow  with  anguish,  love  and  penitence.  She 
watched  him  by  day  and  by  night — in  her  restless 
dreams ;  her  whole  existence  was  in  the  tossing  victim 
of  her  folly.  Every  twitch  of  that  pain-stricken 
body  seemed  to  show  her  that  he  was  shrinking  from 
her  in  hatred.  Her  pretty  face  was  white  and  drawn, 
the  blue  eyes  dark  and  pitiful,  the  merry  mouth  plain- 
tive in  its  hopelessness. 

And  those  jovial  tricksters — those  who  had  jeered 
over  his  lack  of  courage,  the  testing  of  which  they 
had  undertaken!  They  were  smitten  by  their  own 
curses,  haunted  by  their  own  shame.  The  fiery  Trask, 
the  polished  Farring,  the  ingenious  Holmes,  with  all 
of  Jamestown,  prayed  for  his  recovery,  and  spared 
no  pains  to  bring  to  life  and  health  the  man  who  had 


266        THE  MAID  AND  THE  BLADE 

won  that  which  thej  had  relinquished  hope  of  hav- 
ing— Kate's  love.  They  were  tender,  sympathetic, 
helpful — true  men  and  good. 

Kate  could  not  forget  the  look  of  disgust  she  had 
seen  upon  Studdiford's  face  as  he  stood  above  her 
with  the  great  sword  in  his  hand.  His  first  thought 
had  been  to  kill  her ! 

Sitting  beside  him,  bathing  the  fevered  brow,  ca- 
ressing the  rumpled  hair,  holding  his  restless  hands, 
she  could  feel  her  heart  thumping  like  lead,  so  heavy 
had  it  grown  in  the  fear  of  his  awakening. 

Finally  the  doctors  told  her  that  he  would  recover, 
that  the  fever  was  broken.  Then  came  the  day  when 
he  slept,  cool  and  quiet,  no  trace  of  fever,  no  sign 
of  pain. 

It  was  then  that  Kate  forsook  him,  burying  herself 
in  her  distant  room,  guilty  and  heart-broken,  fearing 
above  all  things  on  earth  the  first  repellent  glance  he 
would  bestow  upon  her.  Once,  while  he  slept,  she 
peered  through  his  door,  going  back  to  her  room  and 
her  spinning  with  tears  blinding  the  plaintive  blue 
eyes. 

At  last,  one  day,  her  mother  came  from  the  Cap- 
tain's room  and  said  to  her  gently : 

'*  Kate,  Captain  Studdiford  asks  why  you  do  not 
come  to  see  him.  He  tells  me  that  for  three  days  he 
has  suffered  because  you  have  been  so  unkind.  Go  to 
him,  dear ;  he  promises  he  will  not  plead  his  love  if  it 
is  so  distasteful  to  you !  " 

Distasteful!  The  girl  grew  faint  with  wonder. 
Her  limbs  trembled,  her  lips  parted,  her  eyes  blurred 


THE  MAID  AND  THE  BLADE        267 

and  her  ears  roared  with  the  rush  of  blood  from  her 
heart. 

"  Mother !  "  she  whispered,  at  last,  steadying  her- 
self against  the  wall.  "  Are  you  sure,  Mother?  " 

"  That  he  wants  you?  My  child,  his  eyes  fill  with 
tears  when  he  thinks  of  you.  I  have  seen  them  moisten 
as  he  lies  looking  from  the  window." 

But  Kate  was  gone. 

When  Mrs.  Fortune  opened  the  door  to  the  sick 
man's  room  soon  afterward  she  drew  back  quickly, 
closed  it  again,  and,  lifting  her  eyes  aloft,  murmured  " 

"  God  make  them  happy ! 


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